


Sterek Shorts

by dreamofflight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofflight/pseuds/dreamofflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lots of little ficlets inspired by prompts, other people's art/comments on tumblr, or just my own f'ed up brain. Rated Explicit because of a few, but not all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> balthazarswings replied to your post:  
> Stiles is wearing one of Derek’s shirts. Derek reacts. GO.

Derek pauses in the doorway to his kitchen, eyes widening incrementally more and more as he takes in the sight before him.

Stiles.

Was in his newly rebuilt kitchen.

Making pancakes….

and wearing nothing but boxer briefs…and one of Derek’s shirts.

Stiles head snaps up at the low growl that comes from directly behind him, his own eyes widening, mouth falling open, spatula shaking in his hand as he feels a clawed hand slide around his side, only to slip into his boxers. 

“Oh god….o…oh god..oh holy- _gaa-awd_ , Der~ek!”

Later, when they’re both cleaning up spilled batter, knocked over flour, and airing the house out of burnt-pancake-smell, Derek will blame Stiles for wearing his shirt. He’ll claim that, by now, Stiles has to know what putting on something that smells like Derek does.

Stiles does know.

He was counting on it.


	2. Part of an Online Gaming Community...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this AMAZING piece of art.  
> http://kreugan.tumblr.com/post/27444109877/i-am-part-of-an-online-gaming-community-that

“Annnddd….obviously a warrior…because let’s face it, there’s no way you’re a mage,” Stiles scoffs, then purses his lips. “Though…you could be a rogue, with the way you’re always sneakin-,”

“Stiles.”

The voice startles him so badly he shoots out of his chair, shoving it over with a loud thud.

“AGHH-GHE-Heh!..oh.my.GOD…, Derek!..Wha…what are you doing…in my room- at,” Stiles stutters, looking at the clock blinking on his beside table, the same gleaming red as Derek’s eyes- oh shit, that’s not good.

“1….1 in the morning…,” he squeaks, backing up against his desk as Derek slowly crowds closer, lips pressed together in the perpetual sour look that Derek seemed to always carry. Derek’s eyes bore into Stiles’ for a solid minute, before they slowly drift down to the computer, and Stiles realizes too late that his character was still up on the screen, shifting from side to side, restlessly waiting for Stiles to go on yet another raid.

“…Sour…wolf…?” Derek deadpans, his voice low and utterly lacking humor as he slowly turns his eyes back on Stiles. Stiles blinks, then smiles sheepishly, his shoulders drawn up toward his ears.

“I…Uh…heh…oops?”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles.

“…Death Knight.”

”..Uh..w..wha?”

“…Make me a death knight.”

“It’s not you, Derek, r-…really, it’s a, uh, it’s just a werewolf like creature I’ve decided to give the exact same nickname as yours, that’s all…,” Stiles babbled as Derek turned away, walking back toward the open window, the window Stiles could remember closing and locking not an hour ago. Derek smirks over his shoulder at Stiles, arches a brow.

“Sure Stiles.”

He’s gone in the next second, and Stiles groans, slumping down against his desk and sighing and he scrubs a hand over his face.

“….Death knight it is,” he sighs, and turns back to his game, unable to suppress the slight quirk of a smile that comes to his lips.


	3. That 'Derek is a hooker' idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post http://ladyw1nter.tumblr.com/post/31103689939/teen-wolf-au-suggested-by-anonymous-you

“ _No Refunds!_ Says it right there in the ad. You bought me, you get me. NO. REFUNDS.” The tall dark and handsome man practically growls the words out at him, bringing out a glower that Stiles was beginning to think was his default setting.

Stiles gapes at him for a second, then throws his hands up in the air.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! I thought you were a chick,- not some dude who would feel at home in a freakin’ Abercrombie and Fitch catalog!” he shrieks, pacing across his small bedroom, only to get tripped up in the clothes that were haphazardly strewn across one side of the room. He barely recovers, just in time to hear a laugh come from the other side of the room. He whips around, and standing there, arms crossed over a (very muscular, jesus H. christ) chest, laughing at him with a smile that lit up his entire sour stubbly face, was his hooker.

Derek.

_Fuck._

Stiles feels his heart skip a beat, and his cock sit up and take notice in his pants.

Double fuck.

“….So…uh…no refunds?”

“…No refunds.”

“…How long do I have you for?” Stiles asks, or squeaks, rather, his eyes darting nervously from the worn wooden floor and his worn, faded chucks, up to Derek’s chiseled face and dark eyes. Which were staring right at him. Stiles swallows hard, standing up a little straighter and shutting his mouth with a snap.

Derek _smirks_.

“…All night.”


	4. ANONYMOUS ASKED: STEREK'S FIRST KISS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt.

Derek isn’t sure what makes Stiles do it, and when he asks later Stiles will just smile sheepishly and then shrug, brushing it off as nothing…but he honestly wants to know what makes the teenager respond the way he does to Derek’s snapped sarcastic question. Stiles shoves him, pushes him up against the one remodeled wall of his house, pushes him up against it and physically holds him there, so Stiles can kiss him.

The kiss is hard, passionate, with Stiles’ hands wrapped tight around fistfuls of Derek’s shirt, and Derek’s hands coming up to wrap around the sides of Stiles’ face. Derek open up with a groan, and Stiles just takes, not wasting any time to lick into Derek’s mouth, their tongues sliding slickrough over one another, breath mingling and puffing out hot and humid between them as they move, shift their faces from one side to the other, Derek rumbling low in his chest, and Stiles almost laughing into it, a low giggle of sorts that Derek’s never heard before, but fuck, does he want to hear it again. And again and again.

The kiss doesn’t actually last that long, but they’re both panting when Stiles finally pulls back, unclenches his hands from around Derek’s shirt, the fabric and his hands holding evidence of how tight he’d been clinging to Derek, hanging on for dear life. Derek’s eyes are wide in wonder, awe, shock, something that he can’t really describe because all the blood has honestly rushed straight south from the second Stiles’ lips touched his, and if the state of the front of Stiles’ skinny jeans is any indication, Stiles is in the same situation.

Stiles stares at him, his own eyes wide for a moment longer, but then they shift, go honey soft and liquid, and a quirk of a smile curls in the corner of his lips, even more plush than usual and ruby red from their kiss.

“…That’s how you can get me to shut up…,” Stiles says, but really it’s so snarky, sassy that Derek thinks of it more as a drawl that just a statement.

Derek finds himself smiling back, slow, the corners of his lips turning up as he relaxes against the wall, licks the taste of Stiles from his lips, chocolate and french fries and spearmint gum.

“…I’ll keep that in mind, Stiles.”


	5. head canon: Stiles gets hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a gif set that I can't find the owner to now :| If you know who made it, let me know (the last url I have for it is: http://hoechlinhobrien.tumblr.com/post/31322153987/this-is-not-okay )

  
Head canon: Stiles gets hurt. He’s rushed to the hospital, and Derek doesn’t have time to shower and change after his workout, so by the time he gets to the hospital, he’s sweaty and his hair is falling down on his forehead, and he’s practically hyperventilating with worry…

He borrows a shirt from one of the Doctors, as he’d run to the hospital, shirtless, right out of the forest.

No one bothers him. No one talks to the man who’s curled up in one of the waiting chairs, trying his hardest to blink back the burning tears that hurt his eyes, sting as they well up and threaten to fall. He claps his hands over his ears, eyes shutting tight as he blocks out as much external stimulus as possible. His internal monologue is more than enough to drive him crazy, the words swirling together as his chest tightens.

‘please be okay please be okay, Stiles, please please ….god….please…just…just this once…let me have him, let me keep him…please, please Stiles…don’t die.’

It turns out that wishing and praying don’t count for much…

but amazingly talented doctors did.

Five hours after the car crash, Stiles is stabilized.

Ten hours after the crash, he wakes up, groggy and disoriented, but immediately there’s a warm presence beside him, and the scent of dirt and the forest.

“Mmmm.-erek?” he murmurs, and Derek noses along the side of Stiles’ neck, under the scent of drying blood, antiseptic, and the sterilization of the hospital…Derek can still smell him.

Stiles. Irish spring and conditioner and fresh laundry and teenage sweat. His Stiles.

Derk flushes when Stiles huffs out a laugh, and he realizes he said that last bit out loud.

“…P’sessive much?” he mumbles, and Derek groans, burying his head against one of the dozen pillows behind Stiles’ back.

“…Derek?” Stiles whispers, turning his head just a bit toward the werewolf.

Derek makes a small mm noise in the back of his throat, arching an eyebrow at Stiles.

“…Is m’jeep okay?”

Derek sits up ramrod straight in the chair he’d dragged beside the bed, eyebrows up and furrowed together.

“…Really, Stiles?”

Stiles lets out a soft whine, and Derek can’t help but melt, leaning in to kiss Stiles, who winces.

“Ow…,” he says, split lip hurting from even the softest kiss from his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Stiles looks up into Derek’s eyes, the worried look there making his heart sink.

“…M’sorry I crashed my car…,” he sighs. Derek arches an eyebrow.

“Wait…it was your fault?” Derek whispers.

“….There was a deer n’I just,” Derek growls and Stiles squeaks, eyes squeezed shut tight as he babbles, “it’sbambiokayIjustcan’tDOthat,ok?Ididn’tMEANto…itjusthappenedokDerekpleasedon’tbiteme!”

Derek stares at Stiles, and then chuckles as he leans in, foreheads pressed together.

“I’m not going to bite you Stiles…” Derek says, and Stiles sighs, relieved.

“Thank god.”

“….now.”

Stiles chokes, and Derek laughs, and just like that all of Derek’s worries slide away.

For hours today, he’d thought he had lost this- Stiles, all of his annoying quirky habits and never ending talk and…bruised cheekbones.

“…Just…be careful, Stiles.”

Stiles smiles softly and makes a soft sound, nuzzling back at Derek.

“…Yessir, Alpha, Sir.”

“Watch it.”  
Derek smirks, and Stiles smiles slowly back at him, their fingers curling together on the scratchy hospital bed.   
Turns out, the Jeep is damn near indescructible. While Stiles sustained a broken leg, a sprained wrist, and half a dozen lacerations along with a ruptured spleen. The Jeep? New front bumper, new battery, new windshield and a headlight, and she’s running go as…well, sorta new. Go figure.

Stiles, however, ends up spending over a month in Derek’s bed, “recooperating”.

(not that he minds….at all.)


	6. Stiles gets a Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this work of art: http://nightmarenosh.tumblr.com/post/35810525056/onwingsofwaxandfeather-nightmarenosh and the fact that the artist said she'd read the 'shit out of it' if the fic I had in my head existed.
> 
> So I wrote it. This is pretty porny.

  
ART by NightmareNosh  


The sound of the front door slamming is what wakes Derek up, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is- the couch in the living room, the beat up plaid one that Stiles had found some months ago at a goodwill, and brought back with the help of a rented U-haul truck. The look on the teenager’s face had been one of pure pride; Derek couldn’t even tell Stiles how rank the couch smelled, because Stiles had started babbling about buying it for $40 and there were some mystery stains yah, but they were all easy to hide, and DUDE it’ll match the furniture you already bought!  
So…yeah, Derek had kept his mouth shut, aired it out, and then used two whole bottles of febreeze on it.

After a month of use, the couch no longer smelled like crumbs and spilled beer and various disgusting body fluids from prior owners.  
Now it smelled like pack, from their weekly movie nights, and almost every night pack meetings, where the betas and Stiles and Lydia would pile together to study for their finals; Stiles and Lydia neck and neck for valedictorian this year, and neither was giving up without a fight, even though they’d both gotten into Stanford with full rides, if they wanted.

Footsteps and Stiles’ voice calling his name repeatedly brings him out of his memories and back to the present, and Derek sits up, cracking his neck as he stands up and calls, “In here, Stiles,” in answer. He turns around just in time to see Stiles round the doorway, and not for the first time this year has he been struck dumb with how much Stiles has grown up in the past year. The small amount of baby fat that had clung to him when they met was gone; in it’s place were lean practiced muscles from hours of training, a kind of grace that had been absent for most of the boy’s life learned through sparing with creatures twice as strong and five times as fast as he was. In the blink of an eye, the boy Derek had fallen for two years ago was gone.  
In his place stood a man, one that loved Derek back just as fiercely.

Stiles grins at him, and Derek can’t help his identical smile, opening his arms for their customary hug- but Stiles declines, holding out his hands to press against Derek’s chest when the wolf steps in to wrap Stiles up in his arms. Derek frowns, but Stiles just chuckles, and unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off his left shoulder before Derek can ask the question that’s forming.

He’s stunned into silence when he sees it, stark black ink covered in a clear layer of vaseline, under a wrinkled piece of what looks like saran wrap. It’s held in place over Stiles’ left pec by pieces of masking tape, and Derek can’t stop the noise that rises from the back of his throat. It’s embarrassingly close to a whimper, so he covers it by clearing his throat, pulling back to sit on the couch, it’s firmness the only thing holding him upright as he stares at the fresh tattoo emblazoned over Stiles’ heart.

“It’s a triskele,” Stiles says with a smile, eyes flickering over Derek’s face.

“I know.” He doesn’t mean to sound so short, but he can tell by how Stiles’ smile slips that it comes out that way, so instead of trying to explain how he feels about this, about Stiles marking himself permanently like they’d talked about in the hours of dawn, right when the world is at it’s quietest and you have to whisper because you don’t want to break the spell of silence in the air…Derek just snakes a hand out and snags Stiles wrist, tugs him close between his legs, and kisses him.

It’s searingly hot, desperate and needy at first, as if they hadn’t spent the night together, as if Derek hadn’t been staying up late watching infomercials and waiting for Stiles to come home from his college prep courses at the local city college.

Derek grips both sides of Stiles’ face, Stiles hands shooting up to wrap around his wrists, and the sounds Stiles makes when Derek forces his mouth open with his own do nothing to curb the sudden flare of arousal he’d felt the minute he realized what Stiles had done. 

“Mine,” Derek growls between biting kisses, and Stiles whines back, “Yours, Derek,…yours…fuck!” when Derek bites down on the fleshy part of his shoulder, leaving a new bruise next to the faded one from just a few days before. They move, clumsy and awkward, neither wanting to part too long, striping clothing off between more hungry kisses. Stiles loses his shirt, kicks off his sneakers, socks halfway off before he tumbles backward and Derek just manages to catch him, turning them so they land with Derek beneath him on the couch. They bounce, Derek letting out a harsh puff of breath that Stiles’ weight knocks out of him, and Stiles hisses in pain when they accidentally brush his tattoo. 

“Careful,” Derek cautions, reaching up to delicately smooth the edge of the tape down, and smiling a slow, wide smile when Stiles shivers under his fingers, head to toe. 

“C’mon, Derek…stop stalling,” Stiles needles, poking the werewolf’s bare chest with a long bony finger, and Derek smirks before popping the button on Stiles’ jeans, the click of Stiles’ dry throat attempting to swallow endearing.

“Think you’re still open for me?” he asks in a whisper, hand sliding inside the boy’s tight jeans to wrap around him, already hard and straining. Stiles lets out a huff, shaking his head.

“Did you really just use that line?”

Derek frowns and goes to pull his hand back, but Stiles stops him with a hand on his forearm and a whimper of “Fuck!..Yes…god…yes, I am, jesus Derek….no idea,” he mumbles, rocking his hips down when Derek jerks him once, twice. 

“Tell me.” Stiles whines, hands moving to push at Derek’s chest, push himself fully upright, and then he grinds his hips down, and Derek’s breath catches in his throat, his hand stills. Stiles grins then, all wicked thoughts and mischievous nature, and Derek arches a brow.

“What are you thinking Stiles?”  
“…That we haven’t christened the table yet…,” he murmurs, and licks his lips, and fuck if that isn’t one of Derek’s weaknesses- Stiles lips, no matter if they’re dry or wet, talking or eating or fucking wrapped around his cock…he can’t pull his eyes away from them, and Stiles fucking knows it. He growls then, and sits up, wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist and hoists him up when he pushes himself up off the couch. Stiles yelps, legs flailing for a second before they wrap around Derek’s waist, and he smacks at the older man’s chest for the grin on Derek’s lips.

“Jerk…,” Stiles pouts, but there’s no venom in his voice as he’s carried to the table, a round particle board thing, big enough to seat eight people, and sturdy enough to easily take his weight when Derek practically drops him on it.

“Fuck! Ow…asshole,” he mutters, frowning at the twinge his tailbone gives him, but freezing when Derek arches an eyebrow again.

“What? That hurt?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and is about to say that no, it didn’t not really, but the flash of something in Derek’s hazel eyes stops him, mouth gaping open. Derek smirks, then schools his expression into something carefully neutral.

“I’ll just have to kiss it and make it better then, won’t I?”

His jeans and underwear are gone in the next second, the burn of the fabric being ripped down his legs left behind tingling, and Stiles can’t stop gaping at Derek, even as his legs part automatically. Derek’s hands are always so big, even though they’re practically the same height, and when they grip his thighs and shove them wider apart, yank until his ass is barely on the edge of the table, well, Stiles really doubts anymore could blame him for the pathetic needy sound that gets strangled in the back of his throat.

Derek kneels then, and fuck he’s only done this a handful of times, but every time makes Stiles feel worshipped and dirty and blissed out of his head. The first touch of Derek’s lips makes him jump, and he can’t watch, he’ll come too soon, he knows it, so Stiles just flops back on the table, shoving aside the fancy vase and flower arrangement that Lydia had brought over to give the place some more, no ‘better’ character. It falls off the edge, but Stiles doesn’t even pretend to care, or notice, because Derek’s got his lips wrapped around his cock now, and his hands grip Stiles’ thighs like iron bands, keeping him from bucking up into that sucking, wet heat. Derek moans around his cock, and Stiles answers, sobbing out when Derek’s tongue swirls around the head, and then slides down, down to the fucking hilt, and CHRIST, how was that even legal?!

“FUck, D-ah..g…god, please…,” Stiles babbles, because he knows he’s allowed. He knows it just gets Derek riled up, makes him that much more likely to lose control. Derek groans and deep throats Stiles a few times, breathing in deep to catch the scent of warmth and sweat and Stiles, lingering undertones of laundry detergent and some chocolate that had melted in Stiles’ pocket doing nothing to turn him off. He backs away, licking his lips and pressing his tongue to the underside, snuffling down to lick and suck at Stiles’ balls, drawing a nervous laugh from the boy. 

“Derek…I-”

“Shut up Stiles,” he grumbles, voice rough from where Stiles’ cock has been abusing his throat. Stiles listens, for once without any kind of bodily harm threatened. 

Derek’s tongue is wet, and warm, but it does nothing to detract from how awkward this always feels, the first press and swirl of it around his hole. Stiles shuts his eyes tighter, breathing hard, and then lets out a keening sound when Derek actually moans against his skin. Derek’s enjoyment of this is almost as good as the feeling itself, the way the other man can’t seem to get enough of slowly opening Stiles up, taking hours to work first one, then two and finally three fingers inside of him.

“God….you’re still wet,” Derek whispers, and Stiles turns a lovely shade of crimson before slapping hands over his face and groaning.

“Shut up, Derek- don’t talk a-ahh fuck!” he breaks off when Derek pushes a slick finger inside of him, and god, he must be wet because that was so easy, the drag of it just right to send his legs shaking, chest heaving.

“Fuck…fuck, Derek…..c’mon man, please…d..don’t be a tease,” he stutters, pushing down against the finger that Derek has pushed all the way inside, stroking up and finding his prostate so easily, as if Derek has a map to all the erogenous spots on Stiles’ body, and is just taking a tour of them, one by one.

“Oh, fuck,” and there’s a hand on his nipple, so close to the tattoo his skin ripples with goosebumps, and fuck, yup, Derek’s tweaking it, twisting and rolling the skin just right. Stiles groans, slides a hand down his body to grip in the carefully mussed hair on Derek’s head, and the first vicious tug he gives is met with both a moan from Derek, muffled against his hole, the warm breath making him tense up for a split second, and then a second finger pushed inside. This time it’s harder, tighter, the slide catching more despite Derek’s incessant licking. Derek pulls back then, and Stiles is left blinking in confusion, sitting up on his elbows as the wolf stands up. 

“Wha?” he asks intelligently, before Derek shakes his head and licks his lips. “Lube,” he replies in a voice that makes Stiles’ cock twitch, deep and gravelly and fuck, Stiles needs Derek like, yesterday.

“Don’t ne-” he shuts up, mouth closing with a snap when Derek growls and stalks out of the room, the sound of things being thrown around making Stiles’ eyes widen before Derek comes back, already pouring some of the clear liquid on his fingers. Stiles grins.  
“Knew keeping a bottle in the downstairs bathroom was a good idea.”

“Stiles.”

“Shut up? Yeah, shutting up…,” he says, finishin in a gasp when two fingers are pushed back inside him, cold and so slick. He open up around them, breathing calmly to relax himself, and grabbing the back of Derek’s neck to pull him into a kiss.

“Fuck,” Derek growls, working him open with smooth motions, fingers stroking Stiles inside and out, the stretched skin around his hole glistening with the lube now.

“Yeah?” Stiles is breathless, smiling between kisses, and Derek’s eyes narrow before he brushes right against that spot inside of him, sending Stiles’ smile flying off his face as he cries out in pleasure

“AH!…D…Derek…c…’mon….need you,” he gasps, shoving himself down against those fingers again. Derek nods, and slowly pushes a third finger inside, shushing Stiles and kissing the side of his face as he adjusts to the burn, the stretch.

“Shh..sh….Stiles….so tight still..was just inside you las’night….already so tight,” he whispers, and the words, as always whenever Derek is in the heat of the moment, make him whimper and arch up for more.

“Derek…please…,” he begs, drawn tight like a bow, arching up into Derek’s every touch. Its finally too much, and Derek barely manages to pull his fingers out of the boy and rip his own jeans open, shoving them down his thighs before he’s back, yanking Stiles back to the edge of the table. Stiles sighs when Derek pushes against his hole, and they groan in unison when the head slides inside, Stiles opening so easily around him.

They’re quiet together for a moment, Stiles staring up at his wolf, and Derek panting slowly as he tries to control himself enough not to shove the rest of the way in.

“S’okay Derek,” he mumbles after a few breathes, and rocks his hips up to take more of Derek inside. Derek grits his teeth, hips stuttering forward, brow furrowing down as he braces himself over the boy, hips starting up a slow roll. Stiles sighs in relief, his hands coming up to play over Derek’s shoulders, admiring the way they flex as he shifts, always in awe of Derek’s psysique, but never more so than when those muscles are used to hold him down and fuck him into next week.

“C’mon…Derek…m’not gonna break,” he says, his tone annoyed as he pushes at Derek’s shoulder, wraps his legs around the wolf’s waist to try and pull himself closer. Stiles actually succeeds, and for a split second he’s breathless with the pain of Derek suddenly and completely being inside him, balls pressed to his ass.  
“Stiles?” Derek croaks, but Stiles just shakes his head, licks his lips, and growls ‘MOVE’, his fingernails digging in hard enough to leave lines in Derek’s shoulders. Derek’s hips snap back and then forward, eliciting a shocked gasp from Stiles, and a soft sigh of pleasure from Derek.

“AH!…y..yeah..like that…c’mon Derek, c’mon…,” Stiles eggs him on, fingers digging into his flesh rhythmically, biting and sharp. Derek can’t ever get enough of that, just a little pain with his pleasure, just enough for a different kind of pleasure.

“Fuck…g…gonna, get..m..more tattoos…..this…is y..your reaction…oh fuck yeah, the-…THERE, o.oh GOD, Derek…!” Stiles is babbling again, as Derek rails into him, hands moving to grip Stiles’ hips so he can push harder into him, causing Stiles to yelp, sob out in pleasure. Derek grins at that, and keeps up the new pace, unrelenting, his claws sliding out his fingers to pierce the skin of Stiles’ hips. Stiles whimpers at that, one hand moving down to wrap around his dick, stroking it with a fervor, the need to come suddenly overwhelming. Derek leans his weight on the table, ignoring the creak and groan it gives in favor of pulling a knee up onto the edge, pushing back into Stiles and grinning at the wail of pleasure the teenager gives when the new angle slams Derek’s cock against his prostate.

“Yeah? Like that?”

“FUCK! FUck, DEREK! C…C’mon…I’…I- AH!” Stiles comes a split second later, his body arching up and freezing as he spills over his hand and Derek’s chest, his stomach, messy and hot. Derek grunts when Stiles clenches around him, hissing as he keeps fucking into the boy, pushing Stiles’ orgasm further, stretching it out and making him shake beneath him. Derek pulls Stiles to the edge again, having fucked the boy toward the middle of the table, and snaps his hips forward, breaking a cry from Stiles’ lips. He thrusts hard, eyes shutting as his head falls back, grunting with each thrust into the tight heat Stiles’ hole gave him.

“Stiles…….so good,” he whispers, leaning down and over the table to kiss the boy, their combined weight making the table creak over and over, ticking out a warning that Derek ignores in favor and burying himself to the hilt inside of Stiles to the hilt, gather him close.  
Stiles lets out a small murmur of Derek’s name, and then a loud squeak when the table shifts, groans, and then cracks as it collapses under their combined weight, tilting sideways so they tumble off of it together, Derek falling with a grunt underneath Stiles, who lets out a sharp hiss at the stretch of his hole from the jolt when they land. 

“Ow…ow.ow.ow…,” he mutters, frowning and slowly sitting up to look at the carnage of what WAS their dining room table. Derek frowns as well, sitting up and rubbing his hands along Stiles’ back.

“You okay?”

“…Yah….yah…I’m fine, dude…,” he sighs, then smirks as he looks up. “Table’s done though. First casualty of our loooove makin’.”

Derek grimaces, but snorts out a half laugh, shaking his head as he sits up fully and thrusts up into Stiles slowly. Stiles moans softly, wrapping arms around Derek’s neck and leaning forward to kiss him slowly.

“Gonna fuck me like this…nice n’slow?”

Derek chuckles and kisses Stiles again, rocks them together.

“Yeah…avoid breaking any more furniture….probably a good idea…,” he murmurs against Stiles’ lips, and thrusts up a little harder, Stiles gasping and grinning in reply.

They end up breaking the coffee table and an armchair.  
The coffee table when Derek can’t move it out of the way fast enough to get to Stiles, who’d bent over on the plaid couch, ass wiggling in invitation. It was reduced to kindling by the fireplace.  
The armchair suffered a similar fate, reduced to shreds when Stiles bit down on Derek’s neck while he was riding the man’s cock, Derek’s nails ripping through the fabric on the arms like it was tissue paper, and not stitched leather and padding.

They fuck half the night, ending up cuddled on the damned plaid couch, which was now christened with some of their own bodily fluids, and no, Derek wasn’t going to be febreezing that out any time soon.

“…What made you do it?” Derek asks, as the sun rises and slowly fills the room with hazy morning light. There are cups and plates with now cooled hot cocoa and the remains of reheated lasagna surrounding the couch they’re curled up together on, Stiles laying on his back with Derek curled around him, fingers tracing just outside the tattoo, which they took the wrapping off and gently cleaned after enough time had gone by. Stiles smiles and stops playing with Derek’s arm hair long enough to turn his head and look at the man, hazel eyes flicking up to look into his own. The look there is amazing to Stiles, filled with wonder and disbelief, as if Derek still couldn’t understand why Stiles would want to get a tattoo like that.

“It’s….it means one thing to you..right? That Alpha, Beta, Omega thing. It’s also a Celtic symbol…but…to me. I guess to me it means something else too. It’s pack. To me it’s you, and Scott…my Dad and Scott’s Mom, Boyd n’ Erica n’ Isaac n’ Lydia.”

“And Jackson, and Peter?”

Stiles scrunches his nose up, sighs and pouts before throwing an arm up.

“FINE…them too….but only if I have to.”

Derek chuckles and leans closer, kisses Stiles gently.

“…I love you,” he whispers, nose brushing along Stiles’ on. Stiles blushes at that, licks his lips and smacks Derek gently on the shoulder before mumbling softly “Love you too…”

They fall asleep curled up together like that, Derek’s hand resting just south of the tattoo, where he can feel Stiles’ heartbeat, strong and steady.

They wake up to shrieking and cries of ‘OH GOD!’ and ‘MY EYES!’ and ‘FUCK YOU GUYS! LITTLE WARNING NEXT TIME!’ and Stiles can’t help but break into laughter, even as Derek scowls and barks at Scott to ‘get the fuck out and close the door behind you’.

Six months later, the tattoo healed perfectly, and Derek likes to kiss it good morning, lick is while he fucks into Stiles, and stroke the skin to goosebumps when they bathe together.

Nine months later, Scott forgives them for the event which required ‘hours of brain bleach man!’.

Twelve months later, they christen the new table. It’s made out of solid oak, and barely peeps when Derek fucks Stiles bent over on it.


	7. ANONYMOUS ASKED: STILES GETS INJURED BY A HUNTER WHILE HE IS TALKING IN THE WOODS WITH DEREK

Derek barely hears the sound before it happens, a swift sound of something flying through the air, right past his ear, almost deafening it’s so close. He feels the breeze the projectile brings with it, but he reacts too late; the sound of flesh rending and bone breaking, then the sickening sound of the exit of the bullet, and then the solid THUNK of it hitting the tree all happen so fast…that Stiles is still smiling seconds before the pain registers.  
Before the blood seeps out and pools beneath his shirt, staining blue a dark purple brown, and tilting Derek’s world on an axis it has no business being.  
“STILES!” he yells, catching the boy before he can collapse, the yelp of pain and subsequent gurgling gasp alerting Derek that something was wrong…wrong wrong wrong.  
Derek’s senses go into overdrive, and he whips his head around, but the shooter is already retreating, footsteps fast over dry leaves, breaking branches as he goes. Derek snarls, shifting his weight to go after the hunter that had dared hurt a member of his pack, but he’s frozen in place by the hacking cough and sob of pain that Stiles gives in the next second.

“Der….Derek,” he wheezes, face already white, blood thick and sticky, making his shirt cling to his torso just as Stiles’ hangs cling to Derek’s leather jacket, so hard that his knuckles are turning white.  
Or that could be the blood loss.  
“FUCK. FUck, Stiles, okay…okay, okay, c’mon…we’ll get you outta here, you’ll be fine,” Derek babbles, gathering the boy into his arms, and god he can already tell that Stiles has lost a lot of blood, the smell of it sharp and metallic in the air; Stiles body is already colder than it should be, even though they’d been walking in the woods for an hour before…no..no time to think about that.  
Derek holds Stiles tight, careful not to jostle him as he takes off toward his house, the one they’d been working all summer together, with the pack, to remodel. It’s not far, the path they’d been following a mile long loop Derek used for training purposes, ground worn into a furrow from hundreds and hundreds of laps early in the morning.  
“C’mon Stiles! Stay with me!” he grits out, when Stiles’ heartbeat slows down, stutters as he leaps over a fallen tree and lands particularly hard, Stiles’ head lolling against his shoulder.

“Der…cold….fuckin’….unfair..man…,” Stiles mumbles, hand clenched around Derek’s shirt slipping down inch by inch, until he’s barely hanging on at all.  
“Stiles? STILES! C’mon, stay awake…just a little further…c’mon!”  
“…Der-k….n…eed…t…t’tell…you…”  
“Later Stiles, just focus-”  
“No!” he manages to force out, coughing up blood onto Derek’s shirt, the pattern abstract and fine, dots of bright red against a pure white background.  
“Need….l…la…love…”  
“Later Stiles, please..don’t….you can’t leave me too…,” Derek whispers, bursting out of the treeline and shrieking for Scott, Boyd, Isaac, ANYONE! to call an ambulance, call an ambulance RIGHT NOW!  
“…N…”  
“What? Stiles..it’s okay, they’re calling someone…c’mon buddy, please…you can’t,” Derek mumbles between wet lips, adrenaline and fear racing through his system, chaos in his mind as warring emotions fight for his attention. He lays Stiles down on the porch and rips off his shirt, pressing it to the back of the wound, wincing in sympathy when Stiles arches and cries out in pain, before coughing again, bubbles in frothy red coming to his lips.  
“Stiles…?” Derek asks softly when the boy relaxs back against his arms.  
“…Never….,” Stiles says with a sigh, his eyes closing slowly, before Derek shakes his shoulder, slaps his face once, twice, taps to wake him up to a litany of ‘Stiles? STILES, no..no…Wake up I swear to God I’m gonna kill you if you die on me, WAKE UP STILES!”  
Stiles’ eyes slowly flutter open as the sound of the siren in the distance picks up, gets closer by the second.   
His smile is enigmatic, eyes almost unfocused before they zero in on Derek’s terrified face as he stares down at the boy, thumb brushing across a sharp cheekbone over and over again.  
“…leave you.”  
“What?”  
“Never….g…gonna,” he wheezes out, lips quirking up slightly once more, and Derek’s heart catches in his chest, just as Stiles’ own gives out, and stops beating entirely.

~

2 weeks later…

~

Stiles wakes up to the sound of beeping. That’s the very first thing that registers. The second is a god awful smell…strong and overly deorderized, lingering chemicals and staleness and…oh…fuck.  
He knows that smell. That sound.  
Memories of his Mother come rushing back to him; endless tests and lines of doctors and nurses and people saying they were ‘so sorry’ for his loss.  
The beeping speeds up, and then there’s a warm hand- hot, too warm to be comfortable against his cool forehead.  
“Stiles?” the voice is soft, hesitant, and croaking, as if the owner had just woken up and had gross cottonmouth. But Stiles would recognize that voice anywhere.  
“….Derek…”  
He opens his eyes, and Derek’s face is so relieved that he almost laughs, tries, but fuck that hurts. He winces as he coughs, and Derek’s expression shifts from relief to worry in a split second.  
“Stiles, don’t move…the doctors said you had a collapsed lung….”  
“…Seriously?” he wheezes, eyebrows arching up, because damn, that was impressive.  
“I survived a collapsed lung?..Damn….I’m kind of a badass….,” he murmurs, and Derek’s pissed off expression is worth the pain from his next laugh/cough.  
“Just…relax, Stiles.”  
Stiles sighs and does, the silence in the moment actually nice.  
“…….Told you.”  
Derek looks up from where he’d been examining a yellowing bruise on Stiles’ hand, where the IV was placed.  
“What?”  
“…I told you….not leaving you,” Stiles says with a half smile, lop sided and goofy. Derek’s eyebrows arch up, and then he can’t stop the laughter that escapes him, relief and joy and so much more flooding through him that he ends up with tears in his eyes.  
“You…f..fucking…m..moron,” he gasps out, and Stiles smiles again, wider, used to Derek’s abuse by now.  
“…Love you too, sour wolf.”  
Derek flushes at that, eyes wide in shock, before he sinks back down into his chair, licks his lips and sighs.  
“…Took a bullet to the chest to admit that?” He deadpans with an arched brow.  
Stiles rolls his eyes, and smirks as he relaxes back against the bed, sighing slowly.  
“…Yeah…guess it did….you need one too, because I can arrange that, y’know….my Dad being Sheriff and all.”  
Derek snorts at that and smiles behind a hand, scrubbing it up and through his hair before sighing.  
“You ever do that again…and I will kill you with my bare hands, Stiles.”  
“…You love me.”  
Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles, but doesn’t argue.  
They both know it’s true anyway.


	8. Tutoring a Jock isn't all it's Cracked up to be. Sometimes...it's more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://goodnight-tinyhumans.tumblr.com/post/35823808170/all-i-can-see-is-geeky-stiles-having-to-tutor

The kid sighs again, rolling his eyes as he hauls his feet up off the table. They make a clunking sound on the ground, the heels lighting up and flashing like those stupid shoes kids wear, distracting Derek for a second. He almost misses how the teenager across from him uses his index finger to hastily shove his thick rimmed glasses up his nose, all the while shooting Derek a withering glare as he uses his other hand to press the pause button on the loud, squawking game he’d been playing on his phone.  
Almost misses it. But not quite.

 

Derek grunts and pulls away from the practice chem test he’d been attempting to understand, tossing his pencil down on the table and sighing right back at the kid. Stiles. He’d said his name was Stiles when they’d said down, two hours ago, to start the first of what Derek hoped wouldn’t be very many tutor sessions.  
Though…knowing him, and his inability to absorb ANYTHING science related, they were likely to be here until the next ice age.

“Okay, so…what’s the problem, seriously? You got this half an hour ago when I was explaining it, man.”

Derek grits his teeth, trying his hardest not to snap the kid’s head off.  
“…I’m…I don’t KNOW, okay….I just can’t get it.”

“Well,” Stiles says, sass layered in his voice as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, smirking, “…you wanna try explaininNNGG!~”

 

Derek barely catches Stiles, stopping him mid-fall. Thank god for fast reflexes, one of the few things he had been gifted with, along with the ability to figure out if the ball being thrown at him was going to land in the strike zone, or the sweet spot with what his coach said was about ‘a 95% fuckin’ accuracy rate, kid, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ star!’  
Yeah.

If he could keep his grades up to maintain his scholarship.  
Stiles clears his throat, and Derek realises he’s been spacing again, staring at the kid without actually staring at him. This close though….Stiles wasn’t bad looking. He had plush pink lips that were currently parted in surprise, golden brown eyes (honey colored, really), and a nose that looked like someone had smushed it up slightly. Adorable, really.  
Derek flushes slightly and pull away, setting Stiles’ chair upright and pulling back to sit in his own chair.

“Well…that was embarrassing,” Stiles grumbles, which causes Derek to snort.  
Stiles sends him a withering look and sniffs slightly, shoves his glasses up again, and then stabs at the practice test.

“Get. It. Right. You’re not stupid, Derek. You just aren’t focusing.”  
Derek’s eyes widen at that, and he stares at Stiles for another second, before Stiles sighs and stabs the test again, pushing it over to Derek with one finger on it, eyes on Derek’s face. Derek tries not to notice the pretty pink flush to Stiles’ cheeks as the boy turns away and goes back to his laptop, clicking away at a site that he races through, a never ending sea of colors, white and black text, and hundreds of photos. Derek had been watching out of the corner of his eye, and he swore it just went on…and on and on and ON.

Stiles pauses, and carefully shifts his computer so Derek can’t see the screen, staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  
Derek jerks his gaze back to his test, but finds he can’t seem to focus, eyes slipping back to Stiles whenever the boy chuckles, or snorts, or even shifts in his seat, one hand on the keyboard and the other holding a bic pen to his mouth so he could chew the cap out of the already tortured cap.

Derek swallows hard and looks away again, licking his lips and flipping the page.  
Maybe he’d have an easier time with the next section.

He doesn’t.  
It’s an hour later when he finally gives up, having had enough of trying and failing, over and over again.  
Stiles sighs and slaps a hand on his shoulder, then tilts his head to one side.  
“Hey, so uh…Derek? Why did the chicken cross the Möbius strip?”

Derek blinks, then frowns hard, not understanding what the hell Stiles was talking about.  
“What?..Uh…I don’t know…why?”

“To get to the same side,” Stiles deadpans, then grins like he’s just won the lottery.  
The grin fades when Derek doesn’t laugh, or even return the smile, and Stiles hangs his head with another heavy sigh, before packing up his things and scooting out the door. He leaves Derek with a wave and a ‘Same time next week?’ which Derek nods to.

It’s two days later that Derek googles ‘Möbius strip’.  
He laughs for a solid minute, until there are tears in his eyes.  
Mostly from the memory of Stiles’ eager smile.

The next week goes better, with Stiles bringing a pizza (‘I was hungry, so sue me’) and Derek providing beer, which Stiles wouldn’t be legal to drink for another two years, but Derek wasn’t about to tell if Stiles wouldn’t.

They crack open the book and once again Derek is confused, and angry, but Stiles manages to somehow explain it so Derek gets it..and this time when he takes the practice test, instead of relying on the formulas and definitions at the top of the page, he shuts his eyes and focuses on Stiles’ explanations…the smile when Derek finally got the different types of chemical bonds.

They spend the night reading chapters, going over practice problems and examples that Stiles was sure the teacher was going to be giving Derek come Monday morning,…and Stiles telling horrible, awful, downright unfunny science jokes.

“So…Helium walks into a bar and the bar tender says ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t serve noble gasses in here.’Helium doesn’t react”

Stiles, as usual, waits with an expectant face and a slowly fading grin, before he flips through the book and explains to Derek what noble gases are, and that helium is one of them. The corner of Derek’s lip lifts up.

“A proton and a neutron are walking down the street.   
The proton says, “Wait, I dropped an electron help me look for it.”   
The neutron says “Are you sure?” The proton replies “I’m positive.”

This time Derek smirks and shakes his head.

“You know…be careful when you go to class on Monday, dude.”

“What? Why?” Derek frowns, looking up from reading a passage about the different types of elements, their abbreviations, etc,. It was incredibly boring. Stiles nods, not looking up from his game, which Derek had learned was called ‘angry birds’, and was basically ‘crack cocaine, never start man…need it like oxygen’.

“Because…Chem students do it on the table periodically.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Derek’s can’t hold in the huff of laughter that bubbles up out of him. Stiles grins and lets out a ‘HAH!’, pointing at Derek with a smile that was so bright it was practically blinding. Derek smiles and shakes his head, shoves a the kid’s shoulder.

“Go grab us another couple beers, Stiles.”

Stiles does.

It’s four weeks later that his first chem exam is scheduled, and Derek is doing better, but knows that if he fails his exam, hell, if he gets less than a 85% on it, he’s fucked. So he shoots Stiles a message one day.

DHale: Stiles. Need to meet more often.

IMBATMAN: k. mayb convrt our potential enrgy 2 kinetic enrgy?  
DHale: What?

IMBATMAN: R U a nonvolatil particle? Bcuz U raise my boilin point 

DHale: Just come over tomorrow. Bring food.

IMBATMAN: K. UR so coo, Derek. Molecles stp N UR presnce.

Derek rolls his eyes and flops back in his bed, but can’t help the smile that comes to his lips. Stiles is…dorky, to be sure. But he’s also smart, and funny, even if his sense of humor goes right over Derek’s head 9 times out of 10.  
He falls asleep that night thinking about honey eyes, and googling ‘non volatile particle’ in the morning.

He laughs when he googles it at 9am, after his morning run and practice at the batting cages, and then he blushes when he realises that Stiles was FLIRTING with him…through chemistry. Derek showers and dresses in a shirt he knows is a little too tight, and little too much, and reviews everything they’d gone over the day before, just because.

Stiles brings Chinese, and greets Derek with a grin and a ‘Heyyyy, Derek….ready for some more?’

Derek grunts, but he takes the Chinese without a word.

The jokes continue, each one forcing Stiles to explain something to Derek in terms he can understand, and by the end of the night they’re shoulder to shoulder, going over the book together, angry birds and all other distractions forgotten.

Except for Stiles’ mouth, still chewing on the pen cap. This time the pen was black, which just made his lips even darker pink.  
Derek swallows hard when Stiles waves a hand in front of his face, and he jerks back to reality, schooling his expression and grunting out ‘m’fine’ to Stiles question if he was alright.

“…Well…dude, it’s almost midnight….let’s call it quits.”

Derek nods and cleans up the table, tossing the chinese take out away. When he come back into the living room from the kitchen Stiles is totally packed up, and his chest tightens a little- he’d been hoping for at least a few more minutes with the kid, knowing they wouldn’t see one another for another week with Stiles’ busy work and school schedule.

“Think you’re okay for class Monday?”

Derek nods, and shuffles toward the front door, Stiles right behind him. He turns around and opens his mouth to speak, but Stiles beats him to it.

“I got a charge out of bonding with you, Derek.”

Derek flushes at the sly smile that comes to Stiles’ face, and he can’t help the nervous smile he returns, the shake of his head.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Night dude.”

A week later…Stiles has been sending him pick up lines every day, at least one a day. Each one forces him to google something, or look it up in his chem book. He’s learning even when Stiles isn’t there, and he’s having a hard time with how his heart jumps whenever his phone jingles with the tone the means he has a text.

IMBATMAN: You must be one of those new neon compounds with fluorine and iodine, because you are FINe!

IMBATMAN: I have mass. You have mass. We’re naturally attracted!

IMBATMAN: Hey baby, I’ll lower your kinetic energy.

Derek finally replies the day before Stiles is supposed to come back over, having debated replying to every single text all week long.

DHale: Indian.. And I’m paying you back for last week’s too.

IMBATMAN: me n U shld form a covalnt bond

DHale: Stiles.

IMBATMAN: OK.

Stiles brings over curry chicken and tandoori and naan, and Derek wants to hug him for somehow knowing his favorite dishes. He hands Stiles payment for the food + tutoring, and when their hands touch there’s a spark. Derek isn’t surprised, he’s been walking around in socks all day long, too tired from a hard core practice that morning to do more than shower and change. Stiles flushes and jerks his hand back, eyes wide, leavin Derek to smirk.

“Looks like you got a charge out of me,” Derek says, and Stiles gapes at him, then shoves his shoulder and laughs.

“DUDE!”

“Yeah…yeah…c’mon…let’s get going,” Derek mutters, walking into the living room to set the food down. He misses the fond look as Stiles watches him go, and the sad look that follows and then swiftly disappears as Stiles jogs into the room after him, exclaiming ‘Let’s get Crack-a-Lackin’!’

They spend three hours studying, and then a half hour curled up on the couch, playing angry birds. Derek ends up waking up around 12:15am, squinting in the bright light of the reading lamp on one side of the couch, wondering why he feels dampness on his chest. Turns out…Stiles both cuddles, and drools. He hesitates for a moment, and then clears his throat and shifts, sitting up and throwing the slobbering boy off his chest, staggering to his feet as Stiles slowly struggles awake. 

“Buh-wah?” he asks intelligently, scrubbing sleepily at his face as he yawn and sits up, then jolts to his feet when he realizes what happend.

“SHIT.”

“What?” Derek blink and takes a step back as Stiles races to pack up.

“I’m LATE!”

“What? T…to WHAT Stiles?”

Stiles throws his laptop into his bag and then falls over trying to yank the cord from the wall, stumbling back up to his feet and hissing at Derek as he cobbles the rest of his backpack away, loose papers crumpling left and right.

“To me job! I was supposed to be there at midnight…I’m so screwed, it takes a half hour on the bus!”

“You don’t have a car?” Derek asks, frowning slightly. Stiles growls in irritation, glaring up at the slightly taller man.

“YES, I have a car. It’s in the shop. Some drunk asshole mowed me down and then ran off…So I’m stuck on the bus. Why do you think I took this stupid tutoring j-” He cuts himself off at the look on Derek’s face, the flash of hurt and then immediate mask of non-emotion that Derek had worn that first day they met…something that Stiles hadn’t seen in weeks.

“I’ll drive you,” Derek monotones, and Stiles winces, but nods. “Okay…”

It only takes ten minutes to drive there, Derek breaking all speeding laws on his way, and running two red lights. Stiles pauses after unbuckling his seat belt, turning to look at Derek and opening his mouth, closing it, then opening it again.

“Derek…you know I didn-”

“Just go Stiles…”

“Okay….um…Thanks, dude…this means a lot.” Stiles hops out of the car, but stops himself from shutting it when Derek calls his name. He bends down and peeks into the car apprehension on his face. Derek stares at him for a moment, then nods.

“See you next week.”

Stiles blinks, then smiles, and Derek’s heart does double time in his chest.

It doesn’t get any better from there. 3 weeks of Stiles flirting with him, non-stop. Cheesy, corny chemistry pick-up lines, each and every one helping Derek learn, and making it harder and harder not to ask Stiles to stay the night. Derek couldn’t deny his attraction to the kid any longer, he’d had more than one day dream about those lips, wrapped around his cock instead of a pen cap, sucking hard and moaning deep, guttural. But he couldn’t distract himself now. He had 2 more days until the exam, and Stiles had been spending everyday with him in the last week, trying to help Derek cram.

“Okay, so you’ve got chemical bonds, memorized the periodic table, and the glossary terms in the back of the book. You’re pretty set, Derek. This test isn’t supposed to be that ha-”

“Stiles, I’m not ready.”

Stiles sighs and shifts in his seat, turning to face Derek. They’re a foot apart, close as usual these last few nights, and Stiles’ smile is warm and sends his stomach fluttering. Fucking butterflies. Great.

“You’ll be fine, Derek. You’ve got formulas and definitions, equations and terms. You’re good dude.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair in irritation. He didn’t FEEL ready.

“Hey, Derek…you know what my favorite element is?” Stiles asks with a light tone, grinning slightly. Derek frowns, and then sighs.

“No, Stiles,” he deadpans, staring at Stiles out of the corner of his eye, “I don’t know what your favorite element is.”

“My favorite element is uranium, because I love U,” Stiles says, and then he leans over and kisses Derek. 

Derek freezes. Stiles falters. Derek takes a shaky inhale, and then leans back, staring at Stiles with wide eyes, because where the HELL had that come from?! Derek had assumed the flirting had been a teaching tool, meant to keep Derek interested and aware enough not to have his attention fade while Stiles was talking. Stiles hadn’t shown any interest in Derek’s body, the few times Derek had worn a tight shirt, or even no shirt around him, Stiles hadn’t even looked, had actually averted his eyes after a wide-eyed stare.

And now this?

Derek is pulled from his thoughts to Stiles standing up, shuffling his papers and laptop away, and mumbling “I’ll leave you alone…I uh…s…sorry, Derek..I didn’t…Sorry…”  
Derek is still too stunned to respond, and by the time he figures out what’s going on, Stiles is out the front door, and he’s stuck alone in his apartment with a test to study for, and no tutor. Because he’s an idiot.

Fuck.

Two days later, Derek feels kind of like a zombie, but he’s read the book cover to cover, and made notes on a 5x7 notecard (front and back) with the tiniest writing he could manage. He doesn’t FEEL ready, still, but he knows there’s nothing else he can do to prepare.  
The hall is bustling when he gets there, the other 100+ students all taking their seats, taking out their pencils and papers and calculators. Derek sits down and grabs his phone out of his pocket when it beeps with message, hurrying to silence it when the teacher throws a glare his way.

IMBATMAN: Good Luck Derek. You got this. :)

The message is simple, even a little cocky to assume that Derek ‘has this’…but it makes him calm, collected, and when everyone else is still racing through the problems on the third out of five pages…Derek is done. He’s the 9th person done in a room of 104 people, and he KNOWS he aced that test.

He walks out of the hall and pulls his phone out, a soft smile on his face as he types up a message.

DHale: If I could rewrite the periodic table, I would put Uranium and Iodine next to each other, because U and I belong together. Coffee?

IMBATMAN: You’re paying.

DHale: I’m paying.


	9. Stalker Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://cynictis.tumblr.com/post/31405762811/sterek-au-stiles-is-a-stalker-and-he-is-addicted

The first time Stiles sees Derek Hale, he’s 12 years old and looking through a book of mugshots his Dad has. He asks his Father what’s up with the weird, lens flare thing that happened in the photo, but his Dad just shrugs and mutters something about a camera malfunction.  
That’s where it begins.

Stiles is pretty sure he’s being stealthy. Well…stealthy-ish…just this side of ninjaesque while not yet reaching maximum stealthitude.  
…It’s a word, no matter what Scott says.  
“Dude, I don’t even know why you’re doing this, it’s not like you to get this obsessed-,” Scott trails off at the raised eyebrows and pointed look that Lydia throws his way from across the table. He grimaces and sighs, before turning back to look at the camera in Stiles’ hands.  
“…Why Derek Hale though? He’s like, ancient.” he asks, before stealing another of Stiles’ fries. Stiles looks up from where he’d been lost in thought again, a flush high on his cheeks as he quickly turns off his camera, the view of Derek’s profile, lit up by a late afternoon sun, gone from the view screen.  
“…Scott, he’s 23….and, you know? I just….I dunno, there’s just something there…something I’ve got to…to figure out, you know?”  
Scott blinks at him, not getting it as usual. Stiles sighs, before slinging the camera’s worn in strap around his neck, the pattern reminiscent of the 60s, because it was his Mother’s before him, and her Father’s before her. Only the camera has changed, the strap being repaired over and over as it was handed down. It’s one of the few things Stiles has of his Mom’s that doesn’t pain him to hold.  
He stands up and grabs his backpack, waving a quick goodbye to Allison, Lydia and Scott, before heading out of the cafeteria and back toward the parking lot. He had to get going, or he’d miss it.  
Every afternoon, Derek went for a run. Not some pansy little run around a track, or running in place on a whirring treadmill with music blaring in his ears. No, Derek ran, full tilt, through the forest. He took the same route every day, and if Stiles was on time, he could hide out on a hilltop and watch Derek for 22 seconds as the man run past at top speed.  
It was worth missing the first five minutes of econ, and besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t already have 104% in that class anyway.  
Stiles drives quickly, double checking the time on his phone before tossing it onto the faded passenger seat of his trusty Jeep (the only other thing of his Mother’s he used on a regular basis).  
He makes it to the lookout in time, having just a few minutes to set up. Stiles scrambles to the edge of the cliff and looks down, across the ravine and into the woods. It was winter, and the woods were 60% dead brown leaves and bare ass trees, with the rest being the occasional evergreen that stuck out like a sore…green..thumb…whatever, point was, they looked out of place, and their wide floofy branches blocked some of his viewing of Derek, which was really rather annoying.  
Stiles army crawls to the very edge on his belly, tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration as he fiddles with the controls on his camera. ISO set, white balance checked, the long range lens on, everything was go-..shit, lens cap lens cap!  
He barely gets it off in time before he sees a flash of pale white to the left; and that signaled the start of his 22 seconds.  
Stiles has the camera set on rapid fire mode, able to take continuous pictures so that he could flip through them later on, and it was almost like stop motion; Derek’s body would move from one frame to the next, muscles flexing, brow furrowed, legs and arms pumping as he ran as if there was something hot on his heels. As if his life depended on it.  
Stiles holds his breath, focusing only on Derek and the noisy click of the camera in the quiet of the forest, afraid to even breathe or blink, lest he miss something. All too soon, he knows it’ll be over, and then he’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see this again; Derek, shirtless and sweating in the crisp winter air.  
He jerks to a stop though, when Derek does, freezing in place like someone pressed pause on a movie, captured Derek mid-step. He lets out a shocked breath when Derek turns his head, no, yanks his head to the right, his gaze zeroing in on Stiles as if he’d known exactly where to look.  
“oh…fuck,” Stiles squeaks, as he can see those narrowed eyes, angry and RED?! through the viewer.  
“Oh…oh fuck,” he mumbles, as Derek starts walking toward him, leaving the well-trodden path he always ran on, and stepping into ankle deep brown leaves. Stiles forgets all about stealth, and being a ninja, the second that Derek starts running again, this time toward the edge of the ravine.  
“OH-,” He stands up, eyes widening with shock, forgetting all about being hidden, or taking pictures, or anything other than the fact that Derek was running straight at the edge of a cliff-…and jumping.  
“OHMYGOD!”  
Derek sails through the air, and Stiles swears that time stands still…or just moves really fucking slowly for a few minutes, because he has time to think of all the gruesome ways this could end- Derek falling to his death, hitting the bottom of the ravine, head cracking open, spine twisting, a billion broken bones and pulping of flesh from the fall and fuck Stiles had a front row seat to it all and he reallyreallyREALLY didn’t want to see that and should he close his eyes and look away? What use was it really because he knew he COULDN’T just look away!? Who the fuck looks away when the object of their obsession (yeah yeah obsession, fuck off) was FLYING THROUGH THE AIR like some kind of deranged flying…squirrel…thing…  
He snaps back to reality when time speeds up again, and Derek lands (LANDS!) on the side of the wall, some 30 feet down from where Stiles was standing at the top of the cliff, his hands and feet dug into (INTO!!!!) the rock of the cliff as if it was nothing.  
Stiles might have squeaked. Again.  
And he might have shrieked and turned around and fled when Derek started climbing up the wall like fucking Spider-Man because /WHO DOES THAT?!/  
Stiles doesn’t even make it back to his Jeep, before Derek is on him, and the sound he lets out when the stronger man tackles him to the ground and pins him is a warped twisted thing, that could best be described as ‘the sound of someone being so fucking terrified that they pee in their pants like they haven’t done since they were 7 years old’.  
Stiles shakes underneath Derek, eyes squinted shut and mouth pulled into a grimace as he waits for the inevitable death blow- Derek is obviously some kind of alien, and now that Stiles has found out about him and his freaky powers, Derek will have to kill him to keep him quiet.  
“Please don’t kill me!” he yelps.  
Derek blinks at him, and Stiles dares to open his eyes a millimeter, to look up into the red eyes of the man/alien/horrifying thing on top of him.  
“…I’m not going to kill you,” Derek gruffs, frowning even harder.  
Oh. Okay,…well, that’s good. So, no killing then. Maybe he’ll just erase Stiles’ memories instead to keep his horrific alien secrets…secret. Oh, fuck-  
“OH GOD, please don’t erase my memories!”  
“…What?” Derek looks utterly confused, but Stiles can’t stop talking now, pleading with the man he’d been stalking for a good two…three months now.  
“Please, I swear t’god I won’t tell anyone about you being an alien! I swear! Just, just..please, you can’t take my memories, I …f..fuck, I need those! How am I supposed to pass the SATs without all that prep work I did, and fuck whose going to kick my Dad’s ass at Jeopardy or get Scott through Algebra 2?!”  
“..I’m not going t-“  
“Please!”  
“Just, listen-“  
“Fine! Fine just…you can take it all, all of it! Just leave my Mom, please!” Stiles’ voice cracks, and Derek’s eyes widen, and they both freeze as the red just…/bleeds/ out of Derek’s eyes. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, and Derek frowns a little, causing Stiles to wince.  
“Please,” he whimpers, eyes shutting tight again. Derek huffs out an annoyed breath, before slowly sitting up, and then getting to his feet gracefully. Stiles opens his eyes after a second and flinches back when there’s a hand, a CLAWED hand, in his face. The claws recede, just fucking, disappear, back underneath the skin of Derek’s fingers, as he watches. Stiles’ eyes get so wide that it hurts to stare any longer, so he blinks rapidly instead, looking back up into Derek’s face and then back at his hand when Derek shakes it at him. He takes it, and is hauled to his feet like he weighs nothing.  
“Woah,…” he gasps, clasping a hand to his head and swaying on his feet. Derek frowns, but Stiles just waves a hand at him. “Head rush.” Derek scowls, which Stiles has come to understand is his default setting, through hours of ‘observing’ Derek. Scowling, and a vague constipated look. Those were Derek’s defaults.  
Derek shifts to the constipated look when Stiles offers a hesitant smile, and then gets a pissy look when Stiles picks his camera up off the ground.  
“…Look, kid-“  
“Stiles,” he says, and Derek’s eyebrows raise up out of a frown and into what is almost a surprised look.  
“…Stiles?…Are you serious?”  
Stiles sighs, frowning at Derek.  
“…It’s a nickname.”  
“…Okay….,” Derek says, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile, just a quirk of his lip as he stares at Stiles. Stiles thinks that maybe now would be a good time to make like a tree and get the fuck out of here, but he can’t help himself, now that Derek doesn’t look all…alien monster wtfuck-y.  
“…I don’t…just…/dude/, you JUMPED. OFF A CLIFF. You are NOT normal,” Stiles starts, and can’t stop even though Derek is scowling at him once again.  
“And..and you didn’t even die! You like, flew acro- okay well you didn’t really fly you kind of fell,” Derek’s brow twitches down, and Stiles holds his hands up in defense, “WITH STYLE ok? You fell with style!…a..and then you freaking climbed up the side of another CLIFF, which you JUMPED ACROSS A RAVINE TO GET TO.” Derek looks almost smug now, and Stiles lets out a frustrated sound, throws his hands into the air and almost loses his camera, which he fumbles for.  
Derek laughs. Or huffs, with amusement. Whatever. It’s Stiles turn to scowl at him.  
“…You’re not human….is what I’m trying to get at.”  
Derek swallows at that, and Stiles realizes that maybe getting the heck out of here was the better idea. Better than confronting the incredibly hot hunk of man that he’d been stalking- that turned out to be some kind of super powered alien monster super hero/villain thing.  
“…No.”  
“What?” Stiles blinks, the look on Derek’s face even more constipated now, as if he can’t believe he just admitted that he’s not human.  
“…No. I’m not.”  
Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Stiles watches, fascinated, as he realizes the man’s sweaty skin is actually /steaming/. Jesus.  
“…Then…what /are/ you?”  
Derek tilts his head to one side and narrows his eyes at Stiles, and Stiles swallows and licks his lips, and fuck if his terror wasn’t turning right back into arousal. Way to be fickle, Stiles.  
“…I’m not going to kill you, for one thing. Or erase your memories. I can’t do that.” Stiles sighs. “..the erasing your memories part, at least.” He straightens up, stiffening and staring with wide eyes, suddenly more freaking terrified than he had been when Derek’s eyes were freaking crimson.  
Derek smirks at him, and Stiles squints at him, the quirk at the corner of Derek’s lips telling.  
“…You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he asks, huffing out as he crosses his arms over his chest, feeling an ache in his shoulder from where Derek slammed him into the ground. Derek smirks a little wider, shrugs and crosses his arms as well.  
“Maybe. Maybe it’s nice to see you up close…instead of from 500 years away behind a telephoto lens.”  
Stiles jaw drops.  
“What? You seriously thought I couldn’t see you?…Ki-…Stiles…you were a red hoodie. In a forest. In the middle of winter.” Derek shakes his head and actually lets out what could be a laugh, but Stiles can’t hear anything over the sound of his blood roaring through his ears.  
He’s pretty sure his face is redder than his sweater is, at the moment.  
“F..Fine…so…you’re interesting,” he mutters, then sputters when Derek’s smile widens a little bit more, “..c’mon man…have…have you SEEN YOU?!”  
Derek flushes at that, the smile disappearing to be replaced by a look of utter dismay. Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping.  
“…Dude, it’s not /that/ bad for me to want to bone you….or you to bone me, whatever you’d be into…not that you’d be into me, at all…I just….,” Stiles sighs and frowns, then blinks and looks back up at Derek, gaping for a second.  
“DUDE. oh my god, you almost made me forget- the cliff, with the jumping and the scaling of the wall and the GRR with the RAWR!”  
Derek arches an eyebrow.  
Stiles sticks his tongue out.  
“You know what I mean. What….what are you?”  
Derek frowns slightly, and then takes a deep breath before sighing it out again.  
“….I’m a werewolf.”  
Stiles laughs.  
He can’t help it. He laughs.  
And then Derek growls low in the back of his throat, and his eyes turns red and he grows fucking FANGS and fucking CLAWS and Stiles is suddenly remembering that the man in front of him is actually not a man at all and he flew over a fucking ravine and oh god- the world is sideways and he can’t seem to breathe….  
Stiles wakes up on his back, and the sky is darkening.  
Fuck.  
He missed econ.  
“…Are you going to not freak out on me this time?” a deep voice asks, and everything comes back to him.  
Stiles stiffens, and then nods, before rolling his head over to look at Derek.  
“…Just…one question?”  
“….Fine…,” Derek grumps after a moment’s hesitation.  
Stiles slowly sits up, and then looks from the camera sitting beside him to Derek.  
“…Is this why your eyes did that weird lens-flare thingy everytime you look toward the camera?”  
Derek snorts.  
“WHHHAtt?! This is important information dude, this is a need to know thing, I need to know this, c’mon Derek, don’t hold out on me!”  
Derek smirks then, and shakes his head, sighing.  
“…I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”  
Stiles’ returning smile is wide, and completely unabashed.  
“Nope.”  
“Me telling you that I’m a werewolf just made you more into me, didn’t it?”  
Stiles’ smile grows even wider, and he bites his lower lip.  
“Yup.”  
Derek scowls at Stiles for a long moment, during which Stiles’ smile dies on his lips, before the werewolf (WEREWOLF) frowns, then shakes his head and reaches out to help Stiles up off the ground.  
“Fine….but no more stalking me.”  
“But!”  
“NO, Stiles…..you want to see me…come see me, like a normal person.”  
“…pft…you’re not normal,” he quips, and yelps when Derek cuffs him upside the head.  
“OW….jerk….,” Stiles mumbles, to which Derek smirks.  
“…Just, come see me, when you want to.”  
“Okay, um…how…how about now?”  
“What about now?”   
“…Can I see you now?” Stiles ventures, walking alongside Derek toward his Jeep.  
“…Stiles, you are seeing me now.” Derek says with a frown.  
“….oh….yeah….well…..can we go out?”  
“…Go out?”   
“Yeah.”  
“Stiles….are you asking me out on a date?” Derek asks slowly, his pitch rising in disbelief at the end of his sentence. Stiles winces.  
“Yeah?”  
“…..ok,” Derek nods.  
“OK?” Stiles asks, his voice squeaking, but he’s too excited to be embarrassed about it, really. Derek nods again, eyes darting over to look at Stiles, as if he’s afraid he’s just made a really big mistake.  
“…Okay.”   
Stiles really wasn’t into being a ninja anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: anonymous asked: errrm, sterek, hurt/comfort; they talk about their mums?

Derek shifted slightly, pushing Stiles over just enough so that he could stretch out fully beside the teenager on the open sleeping bag beneath them. Stiles grunted, but didn’t say anything, just moved to give Derek more space (because even though it was his sleeping bag, he knew Derek could, and would, kick him off if he whine about sharing even one more time).

The air wasn’t cold, thankfully, as it was the middle of July and Beacon Hills was sweltering in the heat. Nighttime temperatures barely dipped below 70 degrees, but as Stiles refused to sleep inside the dilapidated Hale house, aka _Death-Trap-And-Tetanus-Just-Waiting-To-Happen_ , they were sleeping on the ground outside. The pine needles and leaves from the trees that had covered the forest floor were gone now, replaced instead with a lush green carpet of grass, growing sweet and vibrant under the summer sun. Derek had laid out on his back, only to grimace when the grass just tickled him. Which was how he came to commandeering half of Stiles’ sleeping bag in the first place.

“I still don’t see why I’m the _only_  one out here,” Stiles grumbled, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He could literally feel Derek’s eye roll, before the Alpha sighed, and explained it once again.

“Because this was supposed to be pack night. We were going to ‘roast marshmallows and tell stories from our childhoods and bond with scary stories’. Those are  _your_  words Stiles. This was  _YOUR_  idea in the first place,” he bit out, even more unhappy about the idea that it was just the two of them than Stiles was, apparently.

 

Stiles sighed, and was miraculously quiet for a solid minute, before he spoke again, and Derek’s blood pressure once again sky rocketed.

“I just…we could reschedule for another night? When Scott’s not grounded and Issac isn’t working for Deaton and, y’know…it’s not just me and Mr. Alpha Sourwolf?”

_“Stiles.”_

“I’m just sayin’,” he said, raising his hands in defense at the snarl that Derek had let out. Derek sighed and let his head flop back, staring up into the night sky. The forest was dense and dark, and they were a good fifteen minutes from Beacon Hills proper, so the light pollution was minimized out here. Even without werewolf vision, Stiles could still see the stars that were dotting the night sky, more and more showing up as the night got later and later. It was only 10 or so, but already there was easily a half dozen different constellations that he could spot and name.

“That one’s Ursa Major,” he said softly, pointing up at a constellation overhead, and Derek leans closer to follow the line of Stiles’ arm up into the sky.

“Where?”

“There…that one..yeah that one…there’s Ursa Minor right there…and then to the left of Ursa Major is Leo minor and Leo…,” Stiles continued talking, using his long fingered hands to map out the stars above them. Derek smiled to himself slightly as he heard Stiles’ breathing calming down, his heart stop racing as fast.

“I didn’t know that you knew astronomy Stiles,” Derek said, arching an eyebrow at the teen when Stiles whipped his head over, heart suddenly racing again.

“I..uh…y-yeah. My Mom…she taught me. She had a telescope.”

“Oh…did…was that something you did together?”

Stiles nodded, lip quirking slightly before he looked back up into the sky again.

“Yeah….she’d let me stay up late to watch for meteor showers…She.. _heh_ …she told me that you always had to wish on a shooting star. If you didn’t, you wasted a wish, and that made you foolish, because there were ‘kids in China who wouldn’t get to see the same shooting star’.”

He laughed softly, and Derek smiled again.

“…You miss her?”

“… _Of course_  I miss her. I-…she died too young, dude. She was like…35 when she died. That’s too young, and I was too young for her to go, but that didn’t seem to matter,” he said bitterly, and Derek frowned at the way Stiles’ scent changed, going sharp and sour.

“Did she teach you anything else? Other than how to be a star gazer?”

Stiles looked surprised for a second, before he nodded.

“Yeah..yeah, I uh…I learned to meditate with her. It helped calm my mind down…Still does whenever I’m having a panic attack, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.” He shrugged as if wasn’t not a big deal, before rolling his head to look at Derek, who flushed and swallowd slightly when he realized how close they actually were.

“What about you?”

Derek frowned.

“What about me?”

“What’d your Mom teach you?” Stiles asked, and seemed oblivious to the fact that Derek stiffened up and frowned even harder at him.

“I don’t want to talk about her-“

“Too bad! I talked about mine…now spill, sourwo-“

“Finish that sentence and I bury you where no one will find the body.”

“hooookay….so..um. You Mom?”

“….She sewed.”

“…Okay?”

Derek fidgeted, and then shrugged, licking his lips before he kept talking.

“So I learned to sew.”

Stiles laughed, and Derek knew he would, which was why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it in the first place.

“ _Shut up_  Stiles.”

“No- God, Derek I’m sorry I just… _dude,_  I can’t even imagine you in front of a sewing machine…you’d like…get frustrated and tear it apart if the stitches weren’t even!”

Derek sighed, moving his hands behind his head so he wasn’t (as) tempted to hit Stiles for laughing at him.

“I didn’t ever do anything like that Stiles.”

“ _Seriously?_  You didn’t have a temper when you were a kid? I find that hard to believe.”

“…Believe it or not, but when my Mom and Dad were alive, I didn’t have much to be angry about,” he deadpans, turning his head to glare at Stiles. Stiles immediately snaps his mouth shut, before slumping back against the ground, sighing.

“…Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“…It’s not though, you were opening up, and- and I was being a jerk. Sooooo… I’m sorry.”

Derek smirked at that.

“It’s fine Stiles.”

They were quiet again, the sounds of the forest coming back in: crickets chirping away, the wind rustling the trees overhead, even the far, far off sounds of the highway. Stiles was silent for a long moment, and just when Derek thought that maybe he’d fallen asleep, he shifts and pokes Derek in the bicep lightly.

 _“Shooting star!”_  Stiles whispered, as if he was afraid to speak too loudly in the night. Derek looked up to catch it just before it burned away, a streak of final light as the meteor died in the atmosphere.

“Making a wish?” Derek asked after Stiles was quiet again, and Stiles shoved at his shoulder.

“Shh…m’trying to concentrate,” Stiles shushed him, and Derek laughed, long and hard, at the look of fierce concentration on the teenager’s face; Stiles’ brow was furrowed down and his eyes squinted shut, plush pink lips pursed as he thought about his wish.

“Ok ok, sorry, sorry!” Derek laughed, fending off Stiles’ poking fingers when he finally gave up trying to form a coherent wish, and just went with the first thing that came to mind.

“What’d you wish for?” Derek asked after they’d settled down again, grins on both of their faces, Stiles’ wrists still held loosely in his grip. Stiles’ smile immediately went from entertained to devious, and Derek could feel dread creeping up his back, his own smile falling quickly from his face.

“Oh come on Derek, don’t look at me like that- I just…I wished that you would talk to me more, like this.”

“What? About my tragic past and how it sucks to not have my family around anymore?” Derek snarked, and Stiles made an irritated sound.

“Yes!  _No!_  Just-…anything! Anything,…like this. You’re…kind of nice. When you’re not shoving me into walls or threatening my life-“

“That was like one time, Stiles.”

“ _Three,_  minimum, but I’ll give you two for good behavior,” Stiles deadpanned, and Derek couldn’t help the soft chuckle that came out of his lips.

“Fine…I’ll make you a deal,” Derek sighed, turning his head to look at Stiles once more, “You don’t ever, and I mean  _EVER_ , tell anyone that I can make lace curtains…and I won’t kill you.”

Stiles grinned, and stuck out his hand, which Derek had to let go of the wrist of to shake.

“Deal, sourwolf.”

“Stiles.”

They spent the rest of the night swapping family stories, and when Scott and Issac found them the next morning, neither of them said anything about Derek being the little spoon.

They laughed about it later, for hours, but neither of them said anything.

Neither Scott nor Issac had ever seen Derek in such a deep, peaceful sleep before; even the puddle of drool on his back from Stiles’ mouth hadn’t seemed to make a difference for Derek, who only woke up once Stiles moved.

They had s’mores for breakfast, and if Derek and Stiles shared a few significant looks across the campfire, well…nobody cared enough to say anything.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek knows where this all started. It was pretty simple; it began when his psychotic Uncle Peter bit Scott McCall, and turned the boy into a petulant, whiny werewolf.

That was how it began.

How it ended up with him, concealed in a darkened corner of Beacon Hills High School’s indoor pool, watching Stiles Stilinski strip out of his clothes to go skinny dipping? Well. That was a long… _long_  story.

 

He’s frozen, eyes wide and unable to look away, as the teenager across the pool stripped, efficient and quick, down to absolutely nothing. The last piece of clothing to go, bright red boxer briefs, tangled on Stiles’ leg, and sent the boy hopping a few feet to get his balance back; a half amused half annoyed huff of laughter coming out of his mouth at his own clumsiness. Derek almost laughs with him, until he remembers that he’s 8 years older than Stiles, and a total fucking creeper for having followed Stiles into the pool room in the first place.

It wasn’t like he had expected the teenager to strip down to his birthday suit, flaunting all that pale perfect skin, before he jumped into the water with a splash that barely missed his pile of discarded clothes. If Derek had been expecting that he-…well…shit. The voice that speaks up inside his head informs him ever-so-politely that he would still be here, spying like a creeper.

When did he become this? This lurking, creepy, stalker?

He thinks back as he watches Stiles swim, floating on his back and sighing happily as the water enveloped him, and wonders when his interest in Stiles shifted from curiosity, to border line obsession.

At first, Stiles had just been the best way to try and convince Scott to join his pack. He had three ragamuffin teenagers in his pack, and while Scott wasn’t exactly the most mature or reliable individual, Derek knew he needed all the help he could get. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to get to know Stiles, to see if bonding with the human could get Scott to trust him too. Derek hadn’t expected to come to actually like Stiles’ brand of snarky humor, his quips making the time pass quickly, bringing smiles that Derek had to angrily chase away from his own face. Research became time that he got to sit on Stiles’ bed and study the teenager’s room, or the boy himself; he’d gotten lost in counting the moles on Stiles’ face before, flushing and looking away quickly whenever he was caught.

Knowing that Stiles wanted him from the moment he first laid eyes on Derek in the woods wasn’t easy. The scent of Stiles’ arousal made Derek’s head spin, his mouth water. He had to clench his jaw just to keep his mouth shut, and not confess that he would be 100% a-okay with Stiles taking advantage, or vice versa, whatever the case may be. It only got worse as the months went by, and they spent more and more time together. Stiles being the one to save his life when he was shot with the wolfsbane bullet? Yeah…that wasn’t exactly something he’d been counting on, at least not consciously. Somehow though, his wolf knew to go to Stiles. He didn’t go to Deaton, he didn’t go to Scott. He went to Stiles.

He licks his lips in the present day, the memory of Stiles’ scent (fear, desperation, worry, disgust, terror all laced around his normal every day scent of horny, curious teenager) that had flooded his nose that night coming right back to him. He’d smelled almost the exact same when they’d been in the pool, trapped by the kanima. Stiles’ scent had been a buoy, keeping his mind there and present even when it wanted to drift, over powering the stench of chlorine that always lingered in the pool room and surrounding areas. Even now, Derek could smell Stiles, 20 feet away, over the chemicals that permeated the air.

He swallows thickly, his mouth dropping open slightly when Stiles climbs out at one end of the pool, the water sliding over his skin to fall off, the droplets almost hesitant to leave the surface, clinging with a tension that Derek understood all too well.

The research was one thing. Going to the club to stalk the kanima, following Stiles home at night before they figured out who the kanima was, and that it was Matt controlling it? That all made sense. Derek was just watching out for the only member of his pack that was human, that could be killed so easily it made him sick to his stomach every time he thought about it.

The night vigils though…were pushing it. He knew it wasn’t a good idea the very first time it happened; sitting on the roof of Stiles’ house, listening to his steady heartbeat through the window, the puffs of deep sleep breathing against his pillow. He knew it, yeah, but he couldn’t stop himself. And so what if he moved the vigils inside. It wasn’t like he ever  _touched_  the boy. No, Derek kept his itchy hands to himself, even when Stiles had wet dreams, or murmured things that sounded remarkably like Derek’s freaking name in his sleep. It was hard (and Derek could just hear Stiles’ voice in his head, smirking and snorting ‘ _hard,_  hehe!’), but he kept his hands and his lips, and every other part of his body to himself.

He watches, breathlessly, while Stiles gets up onto the low diving board, and bounces once…twice, before jumping in. It’s a cannonball, and even though Stiles doesn’t scream it, Derek can’t help but smile. A cannonball, out of all the ways that Stiles could have gone off the diving board…he chose a cannonball. It figured. Stiles was anything but subtle, when it came to a million different aspects of his life. He fumbled, stumbled, waded his way through mess after mess, and somehow came out whole and alive, and barely worse for the wear on the other side.

Derek figured that if he was the muscle of the operation, and Scott was the heart…then Stiles was the brains. He knew, from one of his many, many information gathering operations (which was just him snooping around Stiles’ room), that Stiles was practically a genius. An ADHD genius with a penchant for getting himself into sticky situations, but a genius nonetheless. Stiles never ceased to amaze Derek, and he had trouble sometimes keeping his surprise and awe inside; just giving Stiles a gruff thanks or a nod and a grunt raised a lot less questions than the hug and genuine ‘Thank You’ that he wanted to give the boy, time and time again when Stiles rescued all their asses from yet another supernatural phenomenon.

He supposed that was one of the things that drew him to Stiles, after the initial curiosity and need-to-get-Scott-in-the-pack wore off. Stiles was…like him, in a lot of ways. They were both loyal, to a fault. They were both crazy protective of their families, at least, what was left of them. And they’d both suffered unimaginable loss. Derek’s was, admittedly, greater by pure numbers…but the way that Stiles said ‘Mom’ at night, during one of the many nightmares that Derek had witnessed proved just how much the teenager still ached over the Mother that was no longer there.

Derek lets himself watch Stiles for another few minutes, mind wandering over how close they’d grown with the Alpha pack moving in, and how much he’d come to depend on Stiles. He would be lost without Stiles, and acknowledging that, even if it was just in his own head, made what he was doing that much more despicable.

He needed to get out of here, before Stiles spotted him…before he ruined the tenuous friendship they’d worked so hard to build. Derek stands up a bit straighter, and looks up at the window above his head, the one he’d noiselessly dropped through, moments before Stiles entered the pool, and thusly trapped him there, in the shadows against the tiled wall.

“Where are you going, Derek?”

The voice startles him, loud and echoing off the walls, the only other sound until then the splashing of Stiles moving in the water, the sound of feet on the tile floo-… oh fuck. Leave it to Stiles to get the drop on a werewolf, who was busy daydreaming about the very teenager who was now standing in front of him, soaking wet and absolutely, devastatingly, nude.

“..I…I was..j..just-“

Stiles arches on eyebrow, and then blinks when a drop of water slides down his forehead and drops onto his eyelashes.

“What? You thought I didn’t see you there? Dude…your eyes  _glow red in the dark_ ,” Stiles says, emphasizing the words with a snort and a shake of his head, the newly grown out hair (god did it look good, Derek just wanted to run his hands through it and tug on it and-) sending a shower of water around Stiles’ body.

“I didn’t know.”

“Obviously. You were just so set into creeper mode that you didn’t think about it.”

Derek flushes bright red, and then gapes at Stiles, mouth opening and closing in a rather hilarious imitation of a fish out of water. Stiles smirks again, and then jerks his head at the pool, before taking a few steps back toward it.

“You coming in? Water’s fine…warmer than last time we were in here,” he says slowly, and the curling scent of arousal reaches Derek’s nose, punching him hard in the gut. He swallows down the groan that threatens to escape, and instead makes a babbling, awkward sound. Great.

“I- I…”

“C’mon Derek…there’s no lizard monster to keep us in there this time…just you, and me…and a pool room to ourselves. Or would you rather wait until I was alone in my bedroom again for me to try and seduce you?”

Derek can practically feel the blood drain from his face, he’s so surprised. Stiles grins.

“You seriously suck at this whole, peeping tom, stalker thing, you know that?”

Derek frowns, and then begins taking off his clothes, leaving his leather jacket as far away from the pool as possible.

“How long have you known?”

“How long have you been watching me?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, because the answer is creepier than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

“…A while.”

Stiles stops at the edge of the pool, licks his lips, and then shrugs, loose limbed and carefree- he was everything that Derek had ever wanted, and never knew how to obtain.

“You should stop, you know,” Stiles points out, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and Derek feels his chest tighten in anguish. Stiles was attracted to him, the arousal proved that….but it still didn’t mean that he  _liked_  him.

“Oh….sorry…I’ll stop, I just-“

“Derek. Stop freaking out. I meant stop  _spying on me_  from the shadows…just come in next time, and wake me up. Say hi. I’m a pretty decent conversationalist, if you hadn’t noticed. Even if you’re not.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns, eyes narrowing at the teasing boy. Stiles just grins, and then turns around to jump into the water, swimming underneath the surface until he was in the center of the pool before he came up with a gasp, grinning and shaking his head like a dog.

“Well? Are you coming in or not?!”

Derek strips off his shirt, scrambles out of his shoes, before he answers.

“I can’t promise I won’t still watch out for you. The Alpha pack isn’t playing by any rules I’ve ever heard of.”

“I never said you had to stop watching out for me Derek…just let me know you’re there next time…so maybe I can order us a pizza and we can watch bad B movies, instead of you sitting on the roof in the cold like an idiot.”

Derek unbuttons his pants and frowns at Stiles.

“I don’t sit on the roof anymore,” he mumbles, and Stiles’ smile widens by a fraction, his eyes going wicked.

“Oh? Where do you sit now?”

Derek flushes and stops moving, hands hesitating on his pants.

“The…your chair. By your computer.”

“Mm…Thought so. And you didn’t notice that I’ve moved it around my room? That it’s been right by my bed the last two weeks?”

Derek looks startled at that revelation, and then it’s his turn to grin.

“You’ve been planning this! Did- You came here tonight  _knowing_  I was following you, didn’t you?!”

Stiles’ smile and subsequent flush makes up Derek’s mind for him.

They don’t get out of the pool until they’re both more wrinkled than shar pei puppies in a basket of raisins.

Stiles leaves the chair by his bed the next night, but Derek doesn’t use it. He takes his vigils from Stiles’ side from then on, curled up around the warm human body. Stiles doesn’t have nightmares anymore, and Derek thinks that maybe for once, he’s managed to do something right.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://brolininthetardis.tumblr.com/post/51732496539/this-is-a-coffeeshop-au-screaming-to-be-brought

“So are you?”

The voice startles Stiles out of his looping thought process, and he sharpie out of his mouth, flushing at being caught not doing anything on the job.

“What?” He blurts out, and then turns to face the person who’d just talked to him….only to freeze. Stiles could swear that someone reached into his mind and hand picked every single fetish he had, and rolled and molded them into the man standing before him.

Messy dark hair? Check  
Teasing grin that made his insides melt? Check  
Hands that were big enough to hold him down, and make him take whatever the rest of the built body attached to them deigned to give him? Oh holy mother of _GOD,_  check.

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed several times, each time the guy’s eyebrows climbed just a little further up his forehead.

“What?” Stiles squeaked intelligently. 

The guy just smiled again, dimples popping into existence that threatened to ruin Stiles’ own.

“Hella fucking gay and desperately single…?” He asks slowly, the sly teasing smile coming back in full force as he leaned on the counter that separated them, the counter that Stiles hated with a passion at that moment.

“I…what?” Stiles said again, less squeak and more confusion.

The guy rolled his eyes and stood back up, reaching for the black stand up chalk board that held the specials at Moonbucks, flipping it around with a kind of ease that made something in Stiles’ gut twist and roll. He looked down at the chalkboard, where a crude stick figure drawing stood, smiling dopily out at the customer, the words to the right exactly what the dude had parroted at Stiles moments ago. And below that was the words ‘for your drink today I recommend: You give me your number’.

Stiles gapes at the board, and then squeaks again, pointing at the board and then at himself, while the dude just leans on it, so casual it hurts.

“I didn’t!  That wasn’t- That’s not….ERICA!”

He hears a snort and then laughter from the back room, and Stiles makes a mental note to give her salt in her next drink when she asks for extra sugar. The guy is still looking at him though, and Stiles feels his face heat up with a flush that he’s sure is  _so_  attractive.

“I’m..uh….yeah. I guess. That’s me,” he grimaces, and the guy smirks before setting the board upright again, and then grabbing the sharpie right out of Stiles’ hand.

“Hey!” Stiles protests, only to have the hand that was, until moments ago holding said sharpie, snatched as well. Tall dark and handsome pulls Stiles’ hand close, cradling it, and starts writing something across the back of Stiles’ hand. It tickles, and the guy growls ‘Hold still’ softly when Stiles shrieks with laughter and squirms.

When he’s done, the guy clicks the sharpie closed again, and then hands it back to Stiles, the smirk on his face seemingly a permanent fixture. Stiles isn’t sure he minds though, given how warm that smile makes him inside. 

He takes a moment to look down at his hand, where a number is scribbled, along with a name.

“Derek?” he asks hesitantly, and the guy chuckles, and fuck if that doesn’t do even  _more_  things to Stiles’ insides.

“That would be me.”

“…I’m guessing that this isn’t a number for the local waxing salon…given all the..the hair,” Stiles stops talking as the guy, Derek, he reminds himself, snorts and grins, ducking his head down, and crossing his hairy arms (Dear GOD), over his chest.

“No…not the waxing salon.”

“…Good.”

Derek arches a brow, and Stiles swallows down his nerves, before grabbing a cup from the side and quickly making a drink, a little jittery as Derek’s eyes seem to actually caress him through the air (and how is that even possible!?).

He sets the drink on the counter and calls out ‘Derek!’, which makes Derek laugh, and he comes over to collect his cup.

“What is it?”

“It’s on the house, that’s what it is….,” Stiles quips, flipping the sharpie in his hand and offering Derek a grin, which gets him a half smile in return.

“Thanks…Stiles,” he says after a moment, having taken the time to read Stiles’ name tag. Stiles grins again, and then steps away to help the next customer, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye, watching as Derek reads the cup, where Stiles wrote on it, his number and a short message.

‘I get off at 10 - Stiles’

The slow smile that Derek indulges him with as he walks out of the shop is enough to get Stiles through the rest of the day.


	13. Butterfly Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked you:
> 
> fic prompt: Derek and Stiles adopt a kid. Songfic for "Butterfly Kisses" by Bob Carlisle. pleeeeasse?? if not that's cool. I will always love you.

 

“She’s four years old, Derek, she’s not an infant! You won’t have to worry about diapers or formula or any of that baby stuff,” Stiles sighed, crossing his  arms over his chest with a frown at the alpha.

They were an hour into the argument, the same one they’d been having almost nightly for two weeks now.

Stiles wanted children. Derek…wasn’t so sure.

They’d been married for two years now, and Stiles had graduated summa cum laude, ready to take on the world as a detective, and they’d moved just outside of San Francisco in order to make it happen. As crazy as Beacon Hills had been in recent years, things calmed down after the Alpha Pack was taken out. Scott and Allison got married and moved on, Boyd settled down in Los Angeles, and Peter had taken a shine to New York. Everyone else had basically scattered to the winds. They still went and visited Stiles’ Father at least once a month, even though Stiles wasn’t as worried about him, now that John and Melissa were living together. He knew that Scott’s Mother would take care of his Father, and probably be just as strict as he was on the dietary stuff.

So they’d moved on, and Stiles wanted to start his own family. He’d been with the Department for a year and a half now, and his job was secure and stable. Derek had finally gone back to school, and was finishing up his own degree as an architect, after changing his mind three times over.

“Now is the perfect time, Derek,” Stiles said softly, reaching out to intertwine their fingers. Derek swallowed slowly and looked back up at Stiles, trepidation written all over his features.

“Stiles, I-“

“Shh…you don’t get to say you’re not going to be a good Father, Derek. You don’t get to bad talk my husband like that,” Stiles murmured, stepping in close and leaning in to kiss Derek. “That’s my job,” he said around a smile, Derek huffing out a laugh.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You love me.”

They went to the San Francisco Children's Orphanage the next day, to meet the little girl that Stiles was already head over heels for.

Derek fell in love when she growled at him in greeting.

~

She smelled like sunlight. That was the first thing that Derek realized as the little girl grinned up at him from her perch in his arms. The second thing he realized was that she had another tooth missing. He looked up at Stiles, who was staring at them, eyes watering and smile so wide that it had to hurt his cheeks.

“Daddy?”

Derek cleared his throat and looked down at the curly haired child again, her bright blue eyes framed with a fan of long, long lashes.

“Yes Maddy?” he said, bouncing her just to hear her giggle again. Her shriek made Stiles chuckle, and Derek swore that he hadn’t heard anything as beautiful as those sounds together in his entire life.

“You said if I finished my drawlings I could haf’ ice cream…,” she said firmly, lower lip already out in a pout, ready to fight for what she wanted if he even looked like he was going to deny her. Derek couldn’t help but smile in the face of such determination.

“Yes, I did. Did you finish your drawings?”

She nodded fervently, then went limp fish in his arms, asking wordlessly to be put down. Derek smirked as he set her down, looking back up at Stiles and mouthing ‘this is your fault’ as the spritely little girl bounced off toward the kitchen to sit in her special booster chair. Stiles just grinned in reply.

It had been 3 years since they adopted the fierce little four year old from the orphanage; she had been curls and lopsided bows and hello kitty bandaged knees then. She was much the same now, only the curls were shorter, thanks to an incident with safety scissors and Stiles looking away for two seconds.

“Chocolate or vanilla sweet pea?” Stiles called, as he led the way into the kitchen, bare feet whispering soft over the carpeted hallway.

“CHOC’LAT!” came the gleeful reply. Derek felt his chest tighten, and he had to force down the tears of affection that came to his eyes.

~

“Daddy, DADDY,  stop, I can do it on my own!” Maddy sighed, heavily put upon as Derek tried to  hold onto the back of the bike.

It was the first day without training wheels, and Derek was a wreck. Stiles wasn’t much better, wincing every time Maddy fell over, but ready with bandages and a kiss for bruised knees and scraped up hands. He had to admit that they were raising a tough as nails little kid though. She’d fallen four times in the last thirty minutes, and yet, there was no sign of her giving up.

“Let go, I got this!” She yelled, and Derek did just that, his fingertips slipping off the back of the bike as she sailed down the sidewalk, tiny legs pumping fast, the wobble of the purple and electric blue bike making his nerves frayed to the point of breaking. Her cackle of happiness when she stayed upright, the call of ‘Daddy! Poppy, look at me!! LOOK!’ made up for it though; Stiles’ arm wrapped tight around his waist, the other man’s chin propped up on his shoulder, made up for the fact that she was riding away without his help now.

It was the first time he’d let go of her, and felt the immediate need to get her back into his arms.

~

She was almost 12 when she asked why she wasn’t a werewolf, like her Father. And that led to a whole other line of questioning, and tears all around.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I was adopted!” She sobbed, clutching the pillow to her chest and glaring at her Fathers.

“Maddy, come on sweetheart. It’s not like we don’t love you as much as we would if you had either of our DNA…,” Stiles coaxed, reaching over to gently pat her arm, eyes darting up to look at Derek, who looked like he was on the verge of bolting from the room. He’d never been comfortable with tears, anyone’s tears, but his daughter’s were like Alpha kryptonite.

“I just, I just thought, I thought that maybe I was just slow in developing, or, or that there was something wrong with me…,” she trailed off, sniffling again.

Derek knelt down in front of her, hands on her knobby knees.

“Maddy…baby there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re human, yes. But that doesn’t meant there’s something wrong with you. We chose you to be ours, because we love you. We saw how special you were,” Derek sighed and gathered her into his arms, something that she was letting happen less and less as she got older. She didn’t fight him this time, merely wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose against his strong shoulder.

She still smelled like sunlight, under the watermelon shampoo and the new laundry detergent that Stiles had insisted they buy.

“I love you,” she whispered tearfully, and Derek couldn’t help but whisper it back, squeezing her a little tighter as he looked up at Stiles. He wouldn’t even comment on the smug look on Stiles’ face later on, and patiently ignored his husband’s bragging about knowing just how good a Father Derek was going to be, and how he should have listened from the start, because they would have had Maddy in their lives a whole two weeks earlier if he had.

Derek ignores him until he can’t, and then he shuts Stiles up with a kiss.

It works as well as it always has.

~

“I’m gonna do it, I don’t care what you say!” she shrieked, and slammed her bedroom door, knocking off the ‘Maddy’s Room’ sign they’d made last year at Art Camp. Derek looked pale, mouth hanging open in shock, as his 13 year old daughter continued to rampage around her room, throwing things and screeching about how unfair he and Stiles were being.

“You know…it’s just hair, Derek. It’ll grow back. Promise,” Stiles teased, sidling up beside him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Derek frowned, turning to look at Stiles.

“So what, you’re on her side now?” he asked angrily. Stiles held his hands up, eyes wide as he laughed.

“Woah there Alpha face, calm down with the eyes! I’m not on anyone’s side,” he said quickly. “I just don’t think we should be policing her body. It is her hair, after all.”

“And she wants to dye it fuschia, Stiles!” Derek hissed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to glare at his husband. Stiles shrugged.

“Could be worse.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “How could this possibly be worse?”

“She could want to get something pierced.”

Derek bought the manic panic jars the next day, and spent two hours scrubbing the color out of the white grout in the bathtub.

Maddy went blue the next month, but this time it was Stiles who got to clean the tub.

“Fair’s fair,” Derek said around a smirk, while Stiles grumbled at him from his position hovering over the tub.

~

Maddy turned 16, and came home with a boyfriend named Zeek, a nose piercing, and two D’s on her report card.

The screaming lasted for an hour.

Her grounding lasted a month.

And Zeek lasted all of two minutes, in front of Derek’s glare, and Stiles’ 9mm. They didn’t see him again, and it would take Maddy six months to forgive them for it.

~

She wasn’t valedictorian, but she did well enough to get a scholarship to SFSU. Packing up her belongings into the trusty station wagon they’d bought her, second hand from a neighbor, was one of the hardest things Derek had ever done.

He hugged her until she finally pulled away, before giving Stiles just as long of a hug, and a kiss on the cheek for each of them, eyes tear filled.

“I know you want me to stay here, and it makes a lot more sense economically…but I need to go out on my own you guys. My room’s paid for by the scholarship anyway, and I want to make friends, and have a roommate, and-“

Stiles waved her off, smiling sadly as he leaned into Derek, who wrapped an arm around him and squeezed to reassure him. They were doing the right thing, letting her go.

“I’ll be back on weekends,” she said as she opened the car door, and blew them one more kiss. She wouldn’t be, and they both knew it.

“I love you guys!”

They called out their I Love You Toos, and waved until  the car was a speck at the end of the road, only letting their hands fall to their sides when it turned the corner.

She wouldn’t be back on weekends, but it was okay.

Derek wrapped Stiles up into a hug as he started crying, whispering that their baby was gone, and how scared he was that Maddy was going to get hurt out there.

“She’s tough, Stiles,” Derek sighed softly, brushing a hand up and down his husband’s back. “She’s so tough.”

~

She was 25 when she got married to a curly haired banker named Sven. Her smile made them both light up from the inside, and the Father-Father-Daughter dance was one of the most complicated, yet sweet, things that anyone at the wedding had ever seen.

~

Maddy was 31 when she called Derek up at 3am, crying quietly and asking him to come get her. He and Stiles broke countless traffic laws to go get their pregnant daughter and her belongings. She was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, glowing beyond the red rimmed eyes and snot dripping from her nose.

~

She was 32 when she gave birth and the divorce was finalized. She moved home for a year to take care of her baby, and Derek fell in love all over again with her son. She named him Jonathan Laurel, and both Stiles and Derek teared up at that, although Stiles was sure the poor kid was going to be teased mercilessly for his middle name.

“Oh come on Dad, it can’t be as bad as your first name,” Maddy snickered, and Derek grinned at her, hugging Stiles tighter to his chest as he murmured that he ‘hated them both’.

~

She was 33 when she got back into contact with Scott and Allison’s second child, a cheerfully dopey kid named Eric. Maddy had practically grown up with Eric, whenever their parents had got together to visit they had been inseperable.

Stiles fist pumped when they announced their engagement a year later.

~

Maddy was 35 when she gave birth to her second child, a curly haired blonde thing who cried at the drop of a hat.

Until Derek held her.

She smelled like sunlight. That was the first thing Derek realized.


	14. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another sterek prompt.
> 
> ficken-sie-bitte asked you:
> 
> Derek/Stiles :: proposal

“Marry me,” he said.

Derek narrowed his eyes, but didn’t look up from the book he was reading.

“No.”

Stiles pouted, lower lip jutting out and brow furrowed in disappointment. Derek couldn’t fathom why though; Stiles had already asked him the same question, a dozen different ways, a dozen different times. This most recent one was, admittedly, the least imaginative (or romantic) of the bunch.

“Why not Derek?! We’ve been together for three years now. I love you, you love me…,” he trailed off, as if he knew that he was repeating something that Derek had already heard before like a broken record, just playing the same tired phrase over and over and over. Derek sighed.

“Stiles, it’s not that I don’t love you, you know that. It’s just that y-”

“You’re too young, and you’re just starting your life out. You haven’t even finished college yet, and you don’t even know where life is going to take you once you’re done,” Stiles said sarcastically, obviously parroting something that he’d heard a million times before, the furrow to his brow and the arms crossed over his chest just a tiny indicator of exactly who he’d heard it from. Derek didn’t find it amusing.

“Stiles,” he warned gently, and it was Stiles’ turn to sigh, heavily, and collapse onto the overstuffed couch behind him.

“…You know,” Stiles said after a moment of strained silence, “Someday I’m going to find someone who will say yes, Derek.” He looked up at Derek, his entire body lacking the fight his words seemed to be starting. “What are you going to do then, huh?”

Derek sat down next to Stiles gingerly, the cushion barely depressing with his weight. He put his elbows on his knees, his hands pressed together so hard the knuckles turned white.

“Then, I guess I’m going to have to make you a widower.”

The beat of silence that followed was almost comical, as Stiles slowly turned to stare at Derek, eyes wide with incredulity. Derek’s upper lip twitched, just enough for Stiles to break, and he shoved his boyfriend off the couch.

“You asshole!” Stiles shouted, laughter following as he pounced on Derek, only to be flipped over and pinned down by a smiling Derek. Stiles struggled, and then quit abruptly, the pout back in full force. Derek snorted with laughter and ducked his head down, resting his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder until the laughter died.

“I love you,” Derek said softly, brushing his nose along Stiles’, watching Stiles relax completely. He settled himself down ontop of Stiles, bracketing his head with his forearms, and melted into a kiss. He pulled back when he felt Stiles pulling away, the kiss not as deep, lips no where near as pliant as they usually were beneath his.

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, and Stiles shook his head, sniffing. Derek’s eyes flared wide, breath catching in his throat. Shit.

“I’m fine- I’m fine, I just,” Stiles’ voice cracked, and he brought his hands up to scrub angrily at his face, desperately trying to control his breathing.

“Stiles, stop- stop, you’re going to make yourself have an attack,” Derek said softly, sitting up and pulling Stiles into a seated position. Stiles nodded and took deep, slow breaths, until he’d calmed down. Derek pulled him into a hug, tentatively at first, and then he just enveloped Stiles, held him tight while Stiles clung right back.

“I love you, you idiot,” Derek whispered, stroking a hand up and down Stiles’ back.

“I know,” Stiles sighed heavily, slumping against Derek’s warmer frame.

They sat in silence until neither could feel parts of their bodies, the pins and needles in hands and feet making them walk awkwardly to bed.

Derek laid awake for hours after Stiles’ heartbeat settled down and his breathing evened out, just thinking.

~

1 year later

~

“Stiles Stilinski,” the voice over the speaker said, and the small portion of the audience that held his family and friends erupted in applause and screaming. Stiles grins like an idiot and waves before accepting his diploma, and shaking the hand of the Dean and the president.

He had graduated. He was finally done.

The rest of the ceremony went by in a haze for Stiles; his mind too busy with the after party that Scott had planned, despite the roar that went up from his fellow graduates as they all tossed their caps up into the air. He kept his cap though; he couldn’t wait to see his Dad and Derek, the looks on their faces would be priceless considering they’d both been doubtful he could finish two Bachelor’s degrees in four years.

Stiles walked out of the auditorium and into the throng of people, gently shoving his way through the crowd until he found the tree that they’d agreed to meet at before. Everyone was already there: his Dad, Derek, Scott and Melissa, Allison, Boyd and Isaac. Even Peter and Cora were hanging toward the back, and the only ones missing were Danny (who had also just graduated and was off with his family at the moment) and Lydia (who was in London for an internship).

Scott was the first one to hug him, practically tackling him. Then his Dad gave him a rib cracking hug, and then came Derek, who was gentle, but didn’t let go for a long time.

“Stiles! Dude you did it!”

“I’m proud of you son.”

“You did amazing, Stiles.”

The party was fantastic, and by the end of the night Stiles was more full of hot wings, beer and those giant soft pretzels covered in salt than he ever could have imagined himself being. Everyone went home in trickles; first most of the pack went to the hotel they’d rented rooms at, and then his Dad and Melissa left for their own hotel room. Last to leave, reluctantly, was Scott. He’d told Stiles that he’d room with someone else for the night, leaving him and Derek alone in a house that smelled of spilt beer and spicy wing sauce.

“You made it,” Derek said, his smile indulgent as Stiles all but draped himself across Derek’s lap, the futon couch creaking sadly under their weight.

“As if there was ever any doubt!” Stiles crowed.

Derek chuckled and shook his head.

“Of course not.”

They’re silent for a moment, Stiles rearranging himself beside Derek, pushing and pulling until he has Derek’s body exactly as he wants it. They’re tucked together, Stiles’ head pillowed on Derek’s upper arm, Derek’s lips pressed to his temple as they both watch their fingers twine and flex, digits playing idly just to have that much more contact between them.

“So,” Stiles started, and Derek could already see where this is going.

“Yes.”

Stiles frowned and looked up at Derek, blinking in confusion.

“Dude, what?”

“Yes.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open, as it always did whenever he made any real expression with his face, his lips contorting as his brow furrowed further in confusion.

“Yes? Yes to what, dude?”

“To the question you’ve been asking me nonstop, since the first time I gave you a blowjob, Stiles,” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. Stiles froze, and Derek’s eyes snapped back to his face, because Stiles had stopped breathing.

“Stiles? Are you o-”

“You’ll marry me?”

Derek frowned, and then a chuckle that he couldn’t stop bubbled up, his shoulders shaking with how hard he was holding back the laughter.

“Yes, you idiot. I’ll marry you.”

Stiles kissed him then, but it wasn’t so much a kiss as a crush of lips to lips, the desperate sound that he made giving Derek a warm sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck-” Stiles gasped as he pulled away, tears welling up in his eyes, his face red. “I didn’t, I wasn’t sure you’d ever say yes!”

Derek smiled slow, bringing a hand up to brush the back of his knuckles along Stiles’ jawline, his expression going fond when Stiles turned his head to kiss at his hand.

“I was always going to marry you Stiles. I just had to be sure that this was what you wanted. You needed to go to college, to experience life, get out of Beacon Hills for a while.”

Stiles nodded rapidly, agreeing with Derek’s points, before he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You couldn’t have just told me that in the beginning, when I was 17 and young and impressionable?”

Derek smirked.

“No.”

Stiles grimaced and let out an annoyed huff.

“And why not?”

“Someone had to keep your ego in check. We were a little worried you were going to float away there, after you solving the whole human sacrifice, Druid thing happened. You head got pretty big for a bit there.”

Stiles’ face screwed up as he stared at Derek.

“You seriously told me no just to keep me  _grounded_ , Derek?!”

Derek grinned, and kissed Stiles, ignoring the muffled ‘oh, fuck you’ that tried to make it’s way past his lips.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles grumbled around the kiss.

“Yeah, well, you love me.”

Stiles sighed into the kiss, the soft murmur of ‘Lucky you’ the last thing either of them said for a few hours; celebrating their engagement for the rest of the night was the best idea that Derek had had in a long time, other than saying Yes in the first place.

(Finally)

 


	15. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> I was wondering, when you have some free time, could you write a song!fic to "Closer" - Kings Of Leon for Sterek. Where the darkness around his heart is slowly taking him and the loss of his mother is making feel like part of himself was gone. I just cannot write to save my life. You on the other hand are incredible. Anywho, I hope you enjoy your trip!

Looking back, he knew that he had been all too easy to seduce; he’d been taken in by a wide smile and the sweet scent of her perfume, saccharine, the promise of attention from someone so much older, wiser. He’d practically rolled over for her, given himself up without a moment’s hesitation.  
His Mother’s voice that his first time should be special, should mean something, was shoved to the back of his mind before her bra was even off.  
Kate took his virginity in the backseat of her 4x4, and he didn’t stop to question why she’d want some 14 year old kid with no experience.  
He was too happy to be wanted, to be special, after being the middle child who was only ever seen when he was in trouble.  
Derek came with a gasp, and tried not to read too much into her predatory grin.

_Stranded in this spooky town_   
_Stoplight is swaying and the phone lines are down_   
_This floor is crackling cold, she took my heart, I think she took my soul_

Derek never felt more alien in his own skin than the night he stood, watching as the firemen put out the smoldering remains of his childhood home. The cloying smell of wet wood and earth was thick in the air, but beneath it he could smell other things. Melted plastic. Charred paper. Singed hair.  
He throws up, until he’s heaving dry and coughing up bile, before they even find the first body.

_With the moon I run far from the carnage of the fiery sun_   
_Driven by the strangle of vein showing no mercy I do it again,_   
_Open up your eye, you keep on crying baby, I’ll bleed you dry_   
_Skies they blink at me, I see a storm bubbling up from the sea_

Running to New York seemed like a no-brainer. Laura had always wanted to go, and there was literally no further place to go to, that wouldn’t require a passport that had gone up in smoke months ago.  
Derek doesn’t like it, not the dank city streets or the rushrushrush of the people, but he says nothing. Laura smiles for the first time since the fire the second week they’re there, and he can’t bring himself to tell her how he feels, knowing that he was the reason that his sunshine bright sister hadn’t had a reason to smile for so long.  
So long.  
It had been four months. Just four months.  
Derek hadn’t had a night yet that he didn’t wake up in a pool of sweat, a scream choked at the back of his throat that never made itself known.  
He wouldn’t for over a year.

_And it’s coming closer  
And it’s coming closer_

By the time he makes it back to Beacon Hills, he knows she’s dead.  
He’s just praying he’s wrong.

_And it’s coming closer  
And it’s coming closer_

He’s not wrong.  
He doesn’t throw up this time though. Instead he levels a quarter of an acre, and screams until his throat stops healing. 

_You shimmy shook my boat leaving me stranded all in love on my own_   
_Do you think of me? Where am I now? Baby where do I sleep?_   
_Feel so good but I’m old, 2000 years of chasing taking its toll_

It’s wrong on so many levels…but Stiles is the first thing that’s brought light back into Derek’s life. He’s the first thing that’s made Derek feel something other than self loathing and disgust. He’s mad at someone other than himself, or Kate, for the first time in years.  
And he’s so excited he almost laughs, giddy with the realization that he wasn’t completely dead inside like he’d thought (and Laura had accused him of).  
Finding out that he’s not dead inside though, means that he can feel things again.  
And feeling things hurts more than he could remember, after years of living in a gray world of numbness.

_And its coming closer  
And its coming closer_

When Peter kills Kate, Derek thinks it will help with the pain, bring some closure into his life.  
It does. It doesn’t.

_And its coming closer  
And its coming closer_

Kissing Stiles for the first time is an accident.  
Derek doesn’t mean for it to happen…it just…does.  
The second time, the third, those are deliberate; they’re tentative, and slow, coaxed out of him by Stiles himself.  
“Just, let me, Derek.”  
“Don’t you trust me?”  
“You can’t keep me out forever, you know, someday you’re going to let me in!”

_And its coming closer  
And its coming closer_

Derek wakes up with nightmares still, but they’re fewer, far more time between them now that he wakes up, warm, wrapped around Stiles’ sleep heavy form. The pain and numbness aren’t gone, but they’re no longer lenses that fog his world, making everything dark and dull. They stick to the edges, blocked out by the light that Stiles brings, cloaked by the scent of curly fries and teenage sweat and cinnamon gum.  
He feels a sense of guilt for doing this, for being even remotely like her.  
He keeps it at bay by telling himself that he’ll never betray Stiles the way that she did him.  
He tells himself that while she said the words, he means them.  
So when Stiles rolls over and wakes up, blinking away dreams and smiling slow and sleepy, Derek presses him into the mattress and kisses him until they both have to back away to breathe.  
Stiles’ eyes are wide when he pulls away, breathless and flushed pink, hard against Derek’s thigh.  
“Not that I’m complaining, dude, because I’m not- but what was that for?”  
Derek brushes a thumb down the boy’s jawline and hums.  
“For being here.”  
Stiles rolls his eyes and slaps at Derek’s arm, but Derek can tell by the skip of his heartbeat that Stiles gets it. That Stiles knows he’s everything good in Derek’s life.

 


	16. Grooming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: OH MY GOD. THAT GROOMING POST. COULD YOU WRITE DEREK GROOMING STILES WHEN HE'S SICK?? JUST RUNNING HIS FINGERS THROUGH STILES' HAIR AND TRYING TO PUT STRAY HAIRS IN PLACE? OH GOD I'M HAVING EMOTIONS JUST TYPING THIS. OH GOD.
> 
> that groom post: http://banryeo.tumblr.com/post/61944825863

The cough sounds like there's something rattling around inside of Stiles' chest, something that doesn't belong there and is trying desperately to get out, anyway that it can. Derek cringes every time he hears it, even from the kitchen, where he's currently stirring the slowly simmering pot of homemade chicken soup that Peter had brought over.

"Stiles?" He calls over his shoulder, not taking an eye off the soup. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," comes the weak reply a few moments later, Stiles' voice sounding nasally and dry all at once. He sounds like a completely different person, and it puts Derek's teeth on edge.

"I'll bring you the soup in a minute, alright? You still want saltines?"

"Mm."

Derek can't help the smile at that, the unintelligible sound of agreement that he'd come to understand meant 'yes' or 'please' or 'anything to make the pain stop' in the last week that Stiles had been sick with this cold. 

He ladles some of the hot soup into a bowl, sets the bowl down on a plate, and then rings the plate with half of a sleeve of saltines (the new ones, because the old ones had gone stale, as he'd found out five hours into his becoming Stiles' impromptu care taker).

As Derek walks down the hall, slowly as to not slosh the soup out of the overly full bowl, he takes a deep breath to calm himself, the continued sound of Stiles’ coughing painful even to hear, much less witness in person. Stiles was human, and while humans didn't heal the way that wolves did, they did heal. He couldn't stay sick forever, right? And besides, the Sheriff was going to be back from his trip to Texas any day now...unless he got held up again. Then there would be two people to take care of Stiles, and Derek wouldn’t feel like he was going to miss something and fuck this up if he was gone for five minutes to shower or use the bathroom.

“Stop with the grump face…m’not tryin’ to be so pathetic, I swear.” Stiles sits up on the couch, disturbing the mountain of crumpled tissues that had piled on top of him, the white cascade of gross falling off and onto the floor, to collect with the others that had already made up a semi-permanent residence there. Derek sighs as he arches a brow at Stiles, who merely whines and makes grabby hands at the food Derek was oh-so-meanly keeping from him.

“Please Der? I have an appetite right now. Not sure how long that’ll last.”

Derek snorts and sets the plate down on the little lap top table he’d found in the pantry while he was looking for something to eat himself, and then puts that carefully over Stiles’ lap, squishing the blanket against the teenager’s legs.

“I still don’t see why Scott couldn’t come take care of you,” he grumbles, but doesn’t wait for Stiles to answer before he starts picking up. Tissues in the trash, used glasses tucked between his arm and chest to be returned to the kitchen, and sweat soaked pjs that Stiles had changed out of not even touched, because there was only so much Derek was willing to do.

“He told you,” Stiles says, after slurping down a spoonful of the soup with a sound that was both pathetic and pornographic. “He’s got that interview, remember? Deaton set him up with another vet down near Stanford.”

“I still can’t believe he got in,” Derek marvels, walking away down the hallway once more.

“I know right?!” Stiles laughs, which in turn sets off another coughing fit. Derek hurries to set the glasses down and come back, worried that Stiles, in his infinite klutziness, would have managed to upset the tray, and wound up wearing his soup rather than eating it. By some strange miracle though, Stiles only sloshed the liquid out onto the crackers around the bowl, which, whatever. They were going to wind up soaking in the soup anyway, as Stiles preferred his crackers broken up into pieces inside his chicken soup, moderately soggy, but never stale. Why Derek knew this, and actually held on to the information, was truly beyond him.

With a sigh he sits down on the couch next to Stiles, and steals a few saltines, ignoring Stiles’ half-hearted protest.

“Hey, cracker thief.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I bought these crackers,” he points out, stuffing the other cracker into his already full mouth. “I’ll eat ‘em if I want to.”

“Ew, dude. Not a fan of sea food- ow? No punching the sick person. Jerk.”

Derek and Stiles share a smile as Stiles pretends to rub his arm, as if the gentle tap that Derek gave him had actually hurt somehow.

“You know,” Stiles starts, pauses, then licks his cracked lips and tries again. “Scott actually had almost straight A’s, before Peter bit him.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, so, I guess him getting into Stanford isn’t that much of a stretch. His GPA did dip by a full point the first half of Junior year, but by the end of Senior year he had almost a 4.0 again, so…,” Stiles trails off, shrugs, and digs back into his soup. Derek watches him, absentmindedly cataloguing how Stiles ate all the noodles and chicken bits first, tipping the spoon against the edge of the bowl to drain out as much of the broth as possible.

“I think he’s going to be a good veterinarian,” Derek says, and Stiles looks up, sucks the long noodle he’d been in the process of eating into his mouth, nodding fervently.

“Oh, yeah, totally! He’s going to be awesome. Well. Except for the whole, cats-hating-wolves, thing,” he trails off, looking pensive, and Derek once again can’t stop the fond smile from coming to his face.

“It’ll work out.”

Stiles nods, and then goes back to finishing his food.

By the time he’s done, the broth has gone cold, and Stiles himself has gotten so sleepy that his head has started falling forward, chin against his chest.

“Alright, think you’ve had enough,” Derek murmurs, carefully taking the spoon from Stiles’ loose grasp, and setting it back in the, thankfully, almost empty bowl. He takes the plate off the tray and sets the tray to the side, where it had been earlier, before walking the empty bowl back into the kitchen. By the time he gets back, Stiles is completely asleep, slumped back against the couch, looking like a ragdoll someone has just tossed down when they were done playing with it.

He was only marginally less pathetic than he was when he was awake and coughing and whining. Marginally.

Derek sighs and walks over, socked feet silent on the carpet, to sit down beside Stiles. Just like that last three nights he’d stayed over, Stiles moves towards Derek’s heat within moments, unconsciously seeking out the comfort that came from Derek’s abnormally hot werewolf body. Derek had stopped being weirded out by it, as much, at least, by last night. Now it was almost normal, and if he pushed back until his own back was supported by the couch armrest, and gently tugged until Stiles was nestled between his body and the couch back, well, that was just the easiest way to get Stiles to sleep longer, and hopefully heal faster in turn.

He could tell by the rhythm of Stiles’ heart that within twenty minutes or so, he had slipped from a light sleep into a deeper one. Stiles’ breathing was even and slow, although there was still a slight wheeze to his inhales and exhales, thanks to the ‘gunk’ in his lungs. Derek gently placed a hand on the teenager’s back, rubbed gently until he felt every last bit of tension seep out of Stiles’ body, the limbs heavy and lax against his frame.

Derek let his fingers wander, stroking over the nape of Stiles’ neck, the fever hot skin too warm for normal human temperatures, but still not quite as hot as Derek ran normally. He brushed the pads of his fingertips up, trailing feather light up and over to stroke the velvet soft skin of Stiles’ ear, freezing when Stiles made a sound of pleasure in his sleep. Derek smirked, but didn’t stop; letting his fingers move on, brush through the longer strands of Stiles’ hair. Stiles had let it grow out over the last year and a half, and it was now long enough that if Derek wanted to, he could take handfuls of it and tug, put Stiles wherever he wanted to.

The sexual tension between them had gone from lurking beneath the surface to in-your-face obvious in the past year, and now that Stiles was 18, Derek knew he didn’t even have that excuse to hide behind anymore. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t just man handle Stiles, shove him up against a wall, and kiss him the way his wolf wanted him to. Claim the smart-ass genius for his own, the way he’d been contemplating since the first time Stiles rescued him (never mind all the other times, which just reaffirmed his position on ‘Stiles is the most valuable member of my pack and he doesn’t even know it’).

Derek didn’t know what to do though. What was he supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, Stiles. I’ve been picking on you for the past three years because I am socially awkward and have the emotional maturity of a potato, sorry, wanna go out?’ Yeah. That’d work out well.

He freezes as Stiles moves, pushing his head against Derek’s hand, and Derek realized that he’d stopped petting the sick teenager, his fingers frozen against the back of Stiles’ head.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, even though he knows Stiles is still asleep, and resumes the soft grooming he’d had going.

He pushes hair strands back into place, only to muss them up again, over and over, slowly draining the pain of Stiles’ healing limbs from him every time his fingers brush bare skin. Derek shifts slightly, legs falling asleep under Stiles’ weight, and then freezes; his breath catches in the back of his throat as he recognizes that his abrupt movement had caused Stiles to wake up.

“Bu-wah…?” Stiles mutters intelligently.

“Nothing, Stiles. Sorry I woke you,” Derek mumbles, clearing his throat around the tightness, and praying that Stiles wouldn’t notice how red he’d gotten. Stiles doesn’t, thankfully, instead choosing to nuzzle his face against Derek’s chest, and remark sleepily that Derek made ‘a really stellar pillow man’.

Derek thinks he’s going to take that as a win.

The Sheriff gets home two days later, but Stiles asks Derek to stay anyway, citing Derek’s superior ability at making fruit smoothies.

It takes Stiles another week to start to feel better, but Stiles still doesn’t let him go. His excuse this time is a lot less flimsy, and far more transparent.

“I just want you to stay,” Stiles says, swallowing around the rock that seemed to be lodged in the back of his throat, his eyes searching Derek’s own nervously.

Derek smiles, slow and indulgent. “I can do that.”

Stiles grins back, and then clambers up into Derek’s lap from his spot on the other side of the couch.

“Good. Now, make with the pettings,” he demands, bringing Derek’s hand up to the back of his neck, warm fingers wrapping automatically around now cool human skin. Derek couldn’t have stopped the smile, even if he had tried, so their first kiss is more a meeting of smiling lips than anything else. It’s still absolutely perfect, in Derek’s opinion.


	17. tattoo au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://teenwoah.tumblr.com/post/62458401331/sterek-au-derek-is-a-tattoo-artist-and-stiles-is

Derek clears his throat as Stiles takes his shirt off, nodding as he forces himself to look down and away from Stiles’ bare chest.

"Yeah, that’s, uh, it’s healing great, Stiles," he says, pulling out fresh gloves from the box under his station.

Stiles grins. “I know right? Man, you did such a good job, even the white is still popping!”

Derek flushes, pleased at the praise.

"So, what are we doing today?"

Stiles flops down on the chair, pulling his legs up and leaning back, thumbs idly drumming on the armrests. He shrugs, mouth pulling into that lop-sided grin that makes Derek’s insides trip over themselves.

"I dunno man. Whatever you want. You’re the artist, Derek. I’m just the canvas."

Derek chuckles as he uncaps his skin scribe pen, rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck.

"Alright then, what do you think about…a few koi? Maybe a fox trying to fish for them?"

The way Stiles’ face lights up is his answer, and Derek can’t help but grin back, and settle in. They were going to be there for quite a while, and if Derek drug out the process into two, three, four sessions? Well…that was just him being thorough.


End file.
